Stolen Moments
by potsiesgirl
Summary: What happened between that last kiss in Stolen Kisses to the night just before The Longest Day? Pacey and Joey sort through their conflicted feelings and intense attraction during that entire week in between.
1. Stolen Moments: Chapter One

**SUNDAY**

_"I can't keep on kissing you, Jo."___

_"What do you mean?"___

_"I mean just that. _**_I_**_ can't keep on kissing _**_you_**_. Alright -- I've done it twice now. I can't be the one that's always initiating this. I can't be the one who's always giving you the answers!"___

_Joey looks down, distressed.___

_"Look at me Joey."___

_"I can't."___

_"Please?"___

_Joey brings her dark, teary eyes up slowly to look into Pacey's intense blue gaze.___

_"If you felt even one shred of what I feel for you, we wouldn't be standing here having this conversation."_

As he moved past her to walk away, she whispered his name on a plea and her hand shot out to grasp his, halting him from going, stopping her from letting him. He stared down at their joined hands, still and maybe a little fearful. She stared at his face, saw the emotion writ large there, in the downcast eyes, in the tautness of his jaw, in the waiting. Waiting for her to give him an answer. And so she stepped forward to place her lips on his, to cradle his face in her hands, and still, he paused, for the merest of seconds, before kissing her back. This time _he_ was kissing _her_ back. And when his hands came up to encircle her, to bring her closer, she felt her whole world shifting, her entire being change.

After a few moments, Pacey pulled back slightly to look down at Joey with wondering eyes. Her own eyes remained closed, her lips parted just so, suspended. His right hand rested at her waist, his fingers gently clutching her to him still; the fingers of his left hand were splayed across the top of her back, some of her dark, shiny hair, caught beneath them. Her hands lay tentatively on his shoulders, as if she did not know what to do with them. While she was kissing him, those hands had at first held his face to hers as if to ensure he would remain there, then had almost timidly ventured into his hair before coming down to the tops of his shoulders, where they now rested. He scanned her face, frozen in an arrested state. She looked like she was afraid to open her eyes.

"Jo?" he whispered, touching his forehead gently to hers.

"Yeah?" she whispered back. Her eyes remained closed.

"Dream or nightmare?" Pacey asked her, still whispering, leaning down slightly and gently rubbing his nose against hers.

She sighed, relaxed, and then stepped into him fully, sliding her arms up to wrap around his upper back and burying her face into his neck. He could feel her warm breath there and, for a brief second, felt her drop a hesitant kiss just below his jaw.

"Would you be upset if I said both?" she mumbled, somewhere into the side of his neck.

He chuckled and wrapped his own arms around her waist, turning to kiss the side of her head softly. They stood like that for awhile, just holding each other, wrapped in this moment, allowing it to sink in. Then, Pacey remembered where they were – in the front yard of Aunt Gwen's house, with Dawson just there, beyond the trees, inside the house. And Andie was there too. He dropped his arms and stepped back, glancing all around him quickly before his eyes came to rest upon the darkened barn just across the yard. When he looked back at Joey, her own eyes now wide open, she was just watching him, a bit uncertain. He reached forward and took one of her hands in his.

"Come on," he said, motioning toward the barn with a slight incline of his head, turning to walk fast towards it, taking her with him.

Old Joey might have dug in her heels and demanded to know where he was taking her. Or, she might have wrenched her hand out of his and hurled an insult at him alluding to some lecherous intent before stomping off back to the house. But This Joey merely let him lead her along behind him, even going so far as to intertwine her fingers with his. Pacey felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips and by the time he got to the barn entryway, he was deep in the throes of a full grin. He pulled her into the dark recesses after him and then turned to face her, stepping toward her and walking her up into the shadows, against the inside of the barn. He pressed his body to hers and they stood flush against the barn wall like that, his hands carefully holding her hips, her hands on his wrists, fingers loosely circling them, his lips resting on her forehead. Joey kept her gaze cast downward and, dipping his head so he could look into her large doe-brown eyes, Pacey smiled at her, reassuring.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice husky and tender. She nodded and then smiled shyly. "Speechless? I'd like to take the credit for kissing you into this state, but seeing as _you_ kissed _me_, I should be the speechless one, not you, don't you think?"

"I wish," Joey muttered, bringing her hands up to rest on his chest. Then, throwing her head back to look at him full on, her brows arched, that old fire burst out in a wry half-smile and a sardonic look. "But you, speechless? That would indicate the end of the world, would it not?"

"I thought what we just did out there indicated the end of the world," he replied quietly.

Joey dropped her eyes to his chest as her fingers fidgeted with the collar of his jacket.

"As we know it? Probably," she said, not meeting his eyes. Then, she looked back up at him and smiled. "But I don't really care about that right now. Maybe later. Can we care about that later?" she asked, tilting her head a bit, her tone teasing. There was a slight sadness there, just beneath, and Pacey heard it, which gave him pause. Joey sensed his sudden wariness and leaned up to place a soft kiss on his lips. "I just want to be _here_, right now, with you. Just like this. For a few more minutes." She slid her hands into his short cropped hair and brought him even closer, closing her eyes and sighing softly at the feel of his warmth surrounding her, inhaling the slight aroma of raspberry shampoo in his hair. She buried her nose into that scent and inhaled deeply, giggling softly. Aunt Gwen, with her penchant for fruity bath products, strikes again.

"What?" Pacey asked, drawing back abruptly, throwing her an exasperated look.

"You smell all fruity," Joey said, laughing. Then, with a grin, "I like it."

"Ya like me all fruity, huh?" he chuckled. Then, his tone changed, lowering to a deep rumble as his eyes grew dark. "How else would you like me?"

Joey blushed and burrowed her face into his neck. Pacey laughed softly and laid his cheek against the top of her bent head, hugging her tightly.

"Don't get all shy on me, Potter. You were the one who started it this time," he teased, turning his face into her silky hair. Dropping his head, he moved his lips to find the crook of her neck and when she leaned back a little bit to give him better access, he opened his mouth to taste her skin, sucking softly at the warm flesh and then nibbling gently, slowly sliding his hands down past her hips to curve around her bottom, cupping her against and into him. Joey moaned, arching against him, instinctual, her fingers sliding through his soft hair, clutching his head. Chuckling, Pacey lifted his head and kissed her cheek tenderly. "Little hussy," Pacey murmured into her ear before leaning back to look into her eyes.

She blushed again, but did not look away. They stared at each other for a long moment and then, dropping her eyes down to his lips, Joey's own lips curved into a small smile.

"What are you thinking, Jo?" Pacey asked, his voice warm with a mixture of desire and amusement.

"How long had you wanted to kiss me before you actually did?"

Pacey frowned a bit in thought. "I don't know actually. Um…a while, I guess. Maybe since that night we all stayed at the B & B. I remember looking across at you, while you were talking about your mom and her dream of opening a B & B of her own, and the fire was throwing these flickers around the room and your eyes looked all faraway and I thought, 'Shit, I actually want to kiss Joey Potter right now.' It kinda threw me, y'know?" He shrugged and then smiled. "And you?"

"That night you tried to kiss me sophomore year? I thought about it for a while afterwards."

"You pulled away like I was a freak or something!"

"You _were_ a freak! _Are_ a freak." When Pacey threw a mock wounded look at her, she amended, "Well, okay, a very _cute_ freak."

"Don't tell me you've had the hots for me ever since?!"

"Of course not!" Joey exclaimed. When he tossed her a truly wounded look this time, she added, "Uh…sorry," giggling. Leaning up to kiss his cheek, she soothed away his momentary hurt. Then, touching her forehead to his, she continued. "I thought about what you said that night. About me thinking of someone else if I had let you kiss me. And I wondered if I really would have. Because I certainly haven't thought about anything else since you kissed me last week and every time you kiss me now, thinking just sort of leaves me altogether, you know?"

"Josephine Potter, without a thought in her head. I _do_ kiss you senseless!" Pacey crowed, dropping a quick, hard kiss onto her lips, and then grinning. Joey laughed and brought his head back to hers for a deeper kiss that quickly turned passionate. She sighed into his mouth and Pacey's tongue slid across hers - soft, tender, searching. Their tongues dueled, slipping into a sensual rhythm that was becoming automatic, as if it was natural and long-practiced, though they had in truth only exchanged a handful of kisses between them. Pacey groaned and then broke the kiss, reaching up with his hands to grasp her own hands from where they were tangled in his hair to bring them down as he forced himself to step back and put some space between them.

"We've been gone a long time," Pacey said. "Last thing we need is Aunt Gwen stumbling upon us in this state."

"Or Dawson," Joey added quietly.

"Or Andie," Pacey murmured softly.

"But Krudski's okay, right?" Joey asked, her tone teasing as she glanced up at him.

"Oh yeah," Pacey agreed, chuckling, "Krudski's cool. Hell, we could even invite him into a threesome, if you want."

"And there he is, that cretin I've always loved to hate," Joey pronounced with a half-smile.

"Don't dismiss out of hand things you have never tried, young Potter," Pacey scolded somberly, ruining the effect by then waggling his eyebrows at her.

"Oh please – the only threesome you've experimented with involved you and some snails. And that ended in death and destruction, as I remember."

"But it _did_ get you naked, I also recall."

Joey tried not to smile. She really did. But trying to keep it from spreading across her face just scrunched her lips up in a quivering tangle. So she let it go with an added laugh and surprised both of them by jumping up into Pacey's arms and wrapping her legs around his waist.

"Um…_hello_, Josephine!" Pacey exclaimed, catching her up against him and sliding one arm below her bottom and one around her back to hold her up. "You're…uh…kind of heavy, y'know, especially with the element of surprise and all," he said conversationally, after taking a few steps backwards and then sideways to regain some balance. "So -- what did you do _that_ for?"

"I dunno. Just felt like it," she replied, kissing him again.

"O-kay," Pacey chuckled against her lips. He hugged her tight for a moment and then slid his hands back to push her legs down from around him, setting her down on her own two feet again. "Ready to face the music, Potter?"

"More karaoke?"

"Oh God, no! Never again!"

"Never?" Joey asked, raising entreating doe eyes up to him.

"Don't even go there, Jo. I've had enough karaoke to last me for quite some time. Me and that mic, bosom buddies? Not so much."

She laughed then and took his hand in hers briefly to squeeze it, affectionate, before dropping it and turning to precede him out of the barn. Pacey followed close behind, chuckling, as they walked back to the house, physically not touching but suddenly connected in a whole new, different way.


	2. Stolen Moments: Chapter Two

At the front door, Pacey and Joey parted ways with an exchange of conspiratorial looks and small smiles he to search out Will Krudski, she to enter the house on her own. Joey watched him as he rounded the corner of the house to make his way to the back porch, grinning when he tossed his hand up to throw a wave at her behind his back without breaking stride or turning around. She laughed. Though he had already disappeared from view, she heard his answering chuckle. Smiling, she stepped into the front entryway.

Aunt Gwen's living room was silent, dark, and deserted, a stark contrast to the earlier evening scene of raucous teenagers and bad renditions of songs better left unsung. The fire had devolved into glowing embers, rather than the roaring flames of before, and the red-orange glints barely relieved the blackness of a room plunged into full-fledged night. The light was still on in the side studio room, and as Joey made to move quietly past its doorway, she casually peered in. She paused and her smile slipped when she realized that Dawson was still there, sitting quietly alone, his eyes glued onto one of Aunt Gwen's paintings. With a start, she realized it was the painting of her and Dawson when they were kids.

Rooted to where she stood, she looked at Dawson, transfixed. His gaze was focused, intense, and a tiny smile played at the corner of his lips. Joey scanned his profile, seeking out inner thoughts. Not necessarily his; more, probably, her own. There was a time not too long ago, though it now seemed like a lifetime, that Dawson would have inspired in her the deepest of longings a yearning for his attention, for his smile, for his love.

Yet here, in this instant, just beyond this open doorway where she was standing, half in shadows and grazed by the spilling light, she only felt that returning sadness. _Things are changing, Dawson. People evolve, and some things drop away,_ she had said to him earlier that afternoon, sitting in the barn's loft, high above everyone else frolicking below. In that instant, she had felt as if she were someone suddenly full-grown, hovering just beyond a receding past, gazing back at a vanishing childhood.

Now, on Dawson's face, she saw a fading vision of herself transposed there that girl longing for a perfect forever, in the eyes of a boy she once loved. The painting was a deception, an illusion. Two children captured conveniently on a canvas, encircled by a bond rendered too apparent, making visible that connection which was always assumed. But Joey was coming to know that beneath the surface of things is where truth actually resides. The invisible is often the most genuine.

Joey closed her eyes. She could still feel Pacey's kisses on her lips, feel his hands on her body, hear his throaty whispers in her ear. Even in his absence, he felt so real. Opening her eyes again, she stepped back a little further from the doorway, from Dawson's dreamy gaze, ready to move past it. Because it was Pacey she now felt in her entire being, her senses thrumming from his recent touch, her bones still warmed from his passion.

Passion. Pacey had introduced her to passion. With a dawning realization, Joey conceded that passion had always been there between them. But this was a new iteration of it, transformed from their past antagonisms, and they had been transitioning to this for quite some time now. It was not an abrupt development. But what was _this_? She walked forward slowly, lost in thought, moving toward the bedroom.

"Joey?" Joey snapped her head up toward the whisper from the bedroom doorway. Andie stood at its threshold, a quizzical look on her face. "Are you okay?"

"Uh…yeah. Why?"

"You looked, I dunno…zoned out or something. Troubled maybe."

Joey plastered a chipper smile onto her face. "Nope. Just thinking."

"About what?" Andie asked, tilting her head, inquiring, her brown eyes curious.

Joey blinked and then stared at Andie for a long moment. Andie had been kissed by Pacey. No, she had been more than kissed by him much, much more. Unbidden, a thought shouldered itself front and center into her mind an image of Pacey touching Andie as he had just touched her earlier, his hand clutching at her blonde hair as his lips moved over hers. Joey felt a flash of mortification laced with envy in that moment, so she dropped her eyes hastily and shrugged, looking away to hide the blush she felt staining her cheeks.

"Nothing," she mumbled, stepping back uncertainly – smack into a solid wall of masculine chest. A pair of hands came up to grasp her upper arms and Joey felt her heart suddenly start pounding.

"You guys gonna block the doorway all night?"

Joey turned around, startled. "Will!" she exclaimed, almost passing out with relief. She checked herself, however, and stepped aside to let him pass. She glanced behind him, in case Pacey was bringing up the rear, but only saw Dawson walking out of the studio and into the family room, making his way toward the back porch. She paused a moment, knowing that was where Pacey had gone earlier, in search of Will. But Will was here. And Pacey was nowhere to be seen.

XXXXX

Will was nowhere to be seen. Pacey considered going back into the house, but the coolness of the outdoors was soothing, so he crossed over to a wicker settee and plopped himself down upon it. The wicker protested his weight, creaking mightily, as he flung a leg over one of its arms and let his other leg dangle down to the floor. He smiled to himself, recalling the recent interlude in the barn how it felt to hold Joey in his arms, to have her soft lips warm on his. He still savored the thrill of her pressed close to him and the feel of her hands in his hair. He wanted her. But it was more than that. He loved her.

Pacey shifted so he could look up into the night sky. The stars told stories from ancient times. His father had told him so during a fishing trip once when he was about twelve years old. Well, he told Dougie anyway, when they both thought he had fallen asleep, too bored to hear their tales. But he had listened, eyes closed, rapt. The stars told stories about heroic warriors and wayward maidens, vengeful gods and foolhardy mortals, mighty battles and loves lost. Epic stories transformed into histories, now permanently written onto the sky. The cloud cover was thick tonight but he could see the flashes beneath, as if those stars were stubbornly pushing their way into visibility, struggling to shine their stories on all the little people on this great big earth.

Pacey sighed, impatient. These grandiose thoughts did not suit him; he did not wear them well. So he shrugged them off and thought back to earlier, to his own history, to Andie, the girl he used to love. _But don't you think it's better to just be honest and open about things like this?_ she had said. _I mean, who wants to carry around this burden of guilt over moving on? Which, by nature, has to happen. I want you to be happy, Pacey._ On earth, history was the mundane. It was a girl who rewrote his own sorry tale into something splendid, at least for a little while. It was a song that ensured an annual continuing duet between two skittish souls. It was all the things that meant much more than they seemed, and perhaps, much more than they should. Pacey closed his eyes and let these thoughts sit, idling.

Dawson came out to the back porch for a quiet moment alone, to think, maybe even to dream. But he immediately noticed that someone else was out there, settled in the shadows. More like sprawled actually, on a wicker settee, and if he had not known him any better, he would have thought he was asleep. But the one foot that rested on the floor was tap-tapping restlessly. Dawson smiled.

"Hey, Pace."

Pacey sent a startled look over to the doorway where Dawson stood.

"Uh…hey, D."

He shifted, bringing his legs over so he was sitting up, both feet on the floor now. Leaning back, he put both arms behind him, stretching across the seat back. Dawson walked over to the wicker chair next to the settee and plopped down on it.

"Man – what a day!" he sighed, brushing a restless hand through his thick blond mane.

"Yeah, you could say that. Most definitely," Pacey concurred, his tone soft, dropping his eyes as he brought one hand forward to brush some imaginary lint off of his knee.

"Did Joey find you earlier?"

Pacey looked up, startled again. "Huh?"

"Earlier. She saw you leave the house and went after you when we finished our song. What was that all about, by the way?"

"Um…I needed some air, that's all. Besides, you and Joey and "Daydream Believer"? Not exactly The Carpenters. Or Sonny and Cher. Or even the Captain and Tennille, for that matter," Pacey joked, slipping into a familiar guise of teasing sarcasm.

"Believe me, I'd take the Captain and Tennille any day," Dawson said on a laugh. Then, after a moment, "Are you feeling weird about Andie and Will?"

Pacey stared at Dawson, his mouth dropping open slightly. "Uh…maybe a little," he heard himself say. But he watched Dawson carefully.

"Yeah, it's always weird at first, when you see the girl you love with someone else. Even if you are apart for all the right reasons. I felt that way about Joey when she was with Jack. And then this AJ guy, well…let's just say, a part of me is glad it didn't work out."

"Yeah. He was all wrong for her," Pacey agreed vigorously, shaking his head.

"Exactly! So you saw that too, right?" Dawson was nodding, concurring. "But you know, I'm glad she had that experience. That she's out there experimenting. It will make it so much more real when we can finally be together."

Pacey's stare was blank, dazed, and then he was clearing a blocking lump out of his throat.

"You okay, Pacey?" Dawson asked, frowning.

"Uh…yeah. Um…just breathed down the wrong pipe," Pacey threw out, and then, rushing quickly past the nonsense of that statement, he asked, "So what brought on all this hypothesizing about love lives?'

"Well, Joey and I were talking earlier about growing up and moving on. She said people change things change. And I've been thinking about that a lot."

"And you've concluded…?"

"I've concluded that growing up doesn't have to equal growing apart. Joey and I – we're inextricably bound. Together, we make sense of each other's lives. We always have. And that's what I told her."

"And what did she say?"

"She called me an eternal optimist."

"And this, from the perpetual pessimist herself?"

"Exactly!" Dawson chuckled. "But I can afford to be optimistic. There's really no one else out there that shares the same history that we do. No one else can compete. Well, except for you, maybe. But you would never do that to me."

Pacey felt another lump forming itself in his throat. "Uh…Dawson-"

"I still can't believe Aunt Gwen is selling this house!" Dawson exclaimed, his eyes looking all around the porch, out toward the trees. "This cottage is a veritable temple to my quaint and storied past. And it's always been such a ritual for Joey and me – our annual springtime visit to Aunt Gwen. As I've stated before – it's the end of an era." Dawson sighed heavily.

"Uh…Dawson?" Pacey ventured forth, again. Dawson's gaze came to rest on him, waiting and expectant. He barreled onward. "What if she falls in love with someone else?"

"What?"

"Joey. What if she falls in love with someone else?" Pacey repeated, willing himself not to tear his eyes away from Dawson's face. "What would you do?"

"Why, do you know something I don't?" Dawson asked, teasing. Pacey felt the ground give way beneath him. He was glad he was already sitting down. Dawson laughed. "Man! The look on your face is exactly like the one when you came and got that videotape of you and Ms. Jacobs back from me. You remember that?"

"Yeah. Of course I remember that," Pacey said, dropping his eyes for a moment, fidgeting. He was probably the only teenage boy in America that had his own pornographic record of his first sexual experience archived on videotape. Then, he took a breath and looked back up. "You did me a nice favor that day, D. Giving me that tape back when I asked for it. I wasn't ready to have the world find out about my…uh…physical initiation into male adulthood just yet."

"Yeah. Some things are better left undiscovered, at least for a little while. And anyway, it was the right thing to do. Blood brothers, right?"

"Riiight," Pacey said, slowly, recalling their childhood pact. "So Dawson, last week, when we went camping up by the old fort, I wanted to tell you something."

"That's right. You did," Dawson was watching him more intently now. "What was it?"

_Breathe, Pacey,_ he told himself. _Slow and steady_. "Well, see, Joey needed a ride back from Boston, after she broke up with A. J., and it was really late – early, early morning, actually so she called _me_."

"Yeah, I know you went to go pick her up, Pacey. She needed to call _someone_, and you two have actually moved a step past mere toleration these days." Dawson leaned forward and patted Pacey's knee reassuringly. Then, sitting back again, he looked thoughtful. "You know, come to think of it, ever since Joey got back from that trip, she's been pretty quiet about what happened. We've been hanging out a lot this past week and whenever I look at her, she has this intense, pensive look on her face. I can usually read her like a book, you know? But this – well – it's different. She's entirely closed off about it."

"Why do you think that is?" Pacey asked, never taking his eyes off Dawson's face.

"Maybe she thought she was really falling in love with this A. J. guy. Is that what you were going to tell me? I never met him, so I don't know. You did. Do you think she might have loved him?" Dawson's gaze was questioning. And trusting.

"Um…I haven't the faintest…uh...I have no idea how she felt about him," Pacey answered, tripping all over his words. "I know he kissed her once. When he took her out to see the Northern Lights. Um…I know she thought he was really smart. Uh…he knows Latin…"

Dawson jumped up, an idea grabbing him, lifting him out of his chair with sudden force. "I've gotta go. I'll see ya inside. Oh – and don't worry, Pacey. It doesn't bother me that Joey called you first. I'm just glad you could be there for her, man." He walked off of the porch quickly and, smiling, hurried off into the trees.

"Fuck!" Pacey swore into the night air. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Then he brought his arms forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he buried his face into his hands. "Fuck," he muttered grimly.


	3. Stolen Moments: Chapter Three

"Some say Watergate was a watershed moment in American history," Andie said, turning to face Will from where she stood by the dresser. Dressed in a matched pair of blue-striped pajamas, her hair pushed back from her face by a white cotton headband, she padded over to the bed to settle herself there, next to Joey, perched cross-legged on its edge, who was already in a tank top and pajama bottoms and was flipping through one of Aunt Gwen's _Home and Garden_ magazines.

"Well, others say it obscures Nixon's very real accomplishments in foreign policy. His relationship with China, for instance. He _was_ instrumental in opening up their economic markets to the West," Will pointed out, from his corner by the wall, where he was unrolling his sleeping bag for the night.

"Or you could look at that as a fortuitous moment in history, a set of circumstances that he was lucky enough to happen upon, and thus, benefit from," Joey threw in, only half-listening, but enough to stay with the gist of their ongoing debate.

"To be trite, you make your own luck. He still needed to be an adept negotiator," Will countered.

"Okay – we're off topic now. We're supposed to be discussing Watergate, the incident, not Nixon, the presidency. History is history. It's not up to us to revise it," Andie said, leaning over to peek at the Turkish-style sitting room prominently displayed on Joey's lap. "Wow! That's gorgeous!"

"Who says? History is just a string of stories threaded together to create a framing narrative of events. People switch out that frame all the time, depending on what stories they want to see. What stories they want to believe are real," Will said.

"Okay, we're sliding into the philosophical now. I just want to go over the facts. Ahhgh! I have no idea what angle I'm going to take on this paper yet!" Andie groaned, burying her face into the arms resting on her knees.

"Andie -- it's only Sunday. You've got the rest of Spring Break to mull over this history assignment. We don't get back to school for a whole week more," Joey said, glancing over at Andie's bent blonde head. "And I thought _I_ was an overachiever."

"Yeah – isn't this supposed to be your vacation?" Will asked. Then, he threw a mischievous look over at the two girls and catching Joey's eye, he grasped his pillow in his hands and raised an inquiring eyebrow. She nodded imperceptibly, a tiny smile hovering on her lips. Will stepped toward the bed and swung the pillow to land square on Andie's head. "Lighten up already!

"Cruddy!" Andie yelped in protest, grabbing at the pillow to wrest it from Will's hands before he could get another swing in. As they struggled, Andie kicked out to get better balance and accidentally knocked into Joey. Caught unawares, Joey fell off the bed.

"Ow! Hey!"

"Oh my God! I am so sorry!" Andie apologized, leaning over to look down at Joey, sprawled ingloriously on the floor.

"Are you okay?" Will asked, peeking over Andie's shoulder, concerned.

"Hey guys." Joey looked up to find Pacey towering over her, standing just within the bedroom doorway. "Jo," he said, acknowledging her on the ground below him. A saucy grin stretched his mouth wide. "Awww…no need to worship at my feet. Really. Floral offerings would do just fine."

Joey gazed up at him, feeling an automatic irritated annoyance mixed in with a new sense of giddy gladness at the sight of him there before her. She didn't know if she wanted slug him or hug him.

"Bite me," she threw out at him, falling back upon her standard-issue response. "Moron," she tossed in as well, for good measure. But she dropped her eyes when she said it.

Pacey chuckled in return and glanced over at the bed, where Andie and Will, after sending forth their initial greetings, now continued to banter playfully, physically still entangled in the aftermath of their previous pillow battle. He felt a stirring of forgotten possessiveness when he noticed how Will was draped all over Andie. It surprised him. But it skittered away as quickly as it had surfaced, and he was right back to a curious detachment when he felt a tugging on his jean pants leg. He glanced back down at Joey, who was now looking at him, her brown eyes inquisitive and probing. And, though almost imperceptible, he caught a spark of jealousy there too.

Immediately, Pacey leaned down and grasped Joey's wrists to pull her up to her feet. When she was standing there, directly in front of him, gazing up into his eyes, he had to check the impulse to place a reassuring hand against her cheek, dropping his hand just as promptly as he had raised it. He threw a swift look back over to the bed, but Andie's back was to them, and she was rattling off a list of reasons why pillow-fighting was not considered good foreplay. Will, however, was looking directly at him. At _them_.

"Uh…we'll be back," Pacey said, exchanging a glance of mutual acknowledgement with Will, then pulling at Joey's wrist, taking her with him.

"O-kayyy," Andie said, twisting around in time to see Pacey practically dragging Joey out of the room behind him. Will put his hand on Andie's knee and stated, "So about this foreplay etiquette…," effectively regaining her attention. Andie stared down at his hand on her knee, and after a pause, looked back up at Will. And when he smiled at her, she smiled back at him.

"Pacey!" Joey protested, stumbling along in the wake of his urgent, hurried stride.

Pacey was scanning the darkened house all around him, looking for someplace to go. Someplace private. He settled for the pantry in the kitchen, pushing Joey ahead of him into the small cramped space before stepping in himself, closing the door behind him, plunging them both into pitch-blackness.

"Pacey!" Joey whispered forcefully. "I can't see anything!"

Pacey relied on his hopefully keen hearing to locate where the sound of her voice was coming from and leaned down to correctly place his lips where they needed to be. Where he wanted them to be. He slid one hand behind her neck and the other around her back, pulling her up into him for a fervent kiss. He heard Joey moan and then felt her hands grab onto his elbows, clutching them tightly. In the darkness, his other senses grew more heightened, so that the vanilla scent she wore became overwhelming, infusing him.

Pacey was glad she had decided to start wearing perfume this year, happy it was something he suggested in the first place, though it had started in complete jest. _You're too thorny to wear anything remotely rose-scented_, he had said, when she was trying to choose among Bessie's many bottles on her nightstand, readying herself for that first date with A. J. _Shut up_, she had retorted, and then grabbed the nearest perfume bottle, spraying him with it in retaliation. But the vanilla aroma lingered pleasantly there in the air between them, and he pronounced, _this is the one_. And it was. Some said vanilla was bland, a neutral scent, compared to others in the olfactory realm, but here, mixed in with the heady scent of this girl, it was richness and delight personified. He breathed her in deeply.

Moving his hands upon her, he at first brought them down to squeeze her buttocks and then slid them up to rest tentatively around her ribcage, just below her breasts, his large hands almost entirely encircling her slim torso. Her tank top was thin and flimsy; she was not wearing a bra. When he glided a hand up slowly to tentatively cup one breast, her nipple hard and straining against his palm, it was as if there was barely any material there. He moved his lips to the nape of her neck to taste her skin as he unhurriedly traced circles around her nipple with a gentle thumb. He heard the hitch in Joey's breathing and felt her sliding her own arms around his waist, her hands opening up on his back, pulling him closer.

"Pacey," she breathed, her tone a mixture of want and wonderment. "We shouldn't be doing this…here."

"Mmmhmm," he agreed, moving his lips up to just below her ear, kissing the sensitive spot behind it and then up further to nip at the lobe. Meanwhile, at her breast, he tenderly rolled the sensitive nub between caressing fingers.

Joey groaned and brought her hands up to grab Pacey's head, yanking his mouth to hers and plunging her tongue into it to meet his. They wrestled into another passionate kiss. Breaking apart, finally, some long, heated moments later, Joey pushed at Pacey to put distance between them, which was difficult in their limited space.

"We have to stop," she said, breathing heavily, a restraining palm on Pacey's chest. With her other hand, she combed a hand through her tangled hair.

"Yeah, okay," he said, his own breathing unsteady. He rubbed his face with his hand and then raked his fingers through his disheveled hair to regain some semblance of order, before taking Joey's hand from his chest and intertwining his fingers with hers. It was still too dark for them to really see each other, so Pacey could not tell what Joey was thinking – if she was even thinking at all, he mused briefly. So he asked her instead. "What are you thinking, Jo?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?!" she exclaimed. But he heard the smile in her voice.

"I'm not a mind-reader," Pacey pointed out. "And I forgot to bring my night-vision goggles on this trip, so I can't read your face either."

"And why would you want to?"

"Because I want to make sure you're all right with this."

"What's _this_?

"_This_," Pacey whispered huskily, leaning forward to kiss her one more time before she could muster up another protest. "And _this_," he added, against her lips, his other hand at her breast again, squeezing lightly. Joey reached up to grasp that hand with her own, stilling it, and brought it down to the side. Intertwining their fingers on both hands, she moved their arms around Pacey, resting their joined hands at the curve of his back, and then she stepped into him once more, to nestle there against him. He felt the heat of her cheeks against his neck and knew she was blushing fiercely. "Did that not feel good?" he whispered down to her, squeezing her fingers soothingly behind him.

"No. I mean…yes. It felt _really_ good," she sighed. "It felt wonderful."

Pacey let out a tiny chuckle and released her hands to bring his arms forward to wrap around her. "Well, it's not like you haven't done things before, right?" At her continued silence, he prompted her again. "Right?"

"Well, I haven't done these things with _you_. That's the odd part."

"What we're doing is odd?"

"No – just the fact that we're doing it with each other."

"Will we be doing _it_ with each other sometime?" Pacey teased. He sensed Joey stiffen and was instantly contrite. "Jo – you know I'm kidding, right? _That_ has nothing to do with _this_."

"And what, again, is _this_?"

"Me and you," Pacey said, simply, touching his lips to her forehead. He heard Joey sigh, relaxing. "That other stuff? Not the end goal in this game." Joey stiffened again and Pacey rushed to rectify himself once more. "Uh – not that this is a _game_ or anything. Because it's not. It never could be. And…well….shit. I'm just no good at all with this talking stuff. Not right now, while we're in here." To his surprise, he heard Joey giggle and felt her lips place a soft kiss on his chin.

"Come on then," she said. "Let's take this conversation elsewhere." Joey felt for the door handle, opened the door and then grabbed Pacey's hand, bringing them back out into the kitchen. Dropping his hand, she turned to lead him out to the living room where they settled themselves on the couch, facing each other but keeping an appropriately safe distance between them. "So…what shall we talk about?" she asked, sitting up primly, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes looking at him expectantly, a half-smile on her lips.

Pacey laughed and reached out to ruffle the hair on top of her head, his touch affectionate. She grinned back at him and fought the impulse to throw herself into his arms. Instead, she amiably knocked his hand away from her head, and then clasped her hands together again more tightly into her lap. Pacey leaned against the couch seat, stretching one arm along the back of it. Casually, with his other hand, he started tracing circles on the seat cushion between them, keeping his eyes down. Joey focused on trying not to recall how and where he traced such circles before with those very talented fingers.

"I tried to tell him, you know," he said, his finger moving into figure-eights now. "Outside, on the back porch. Earlier."

"Uh-huh," Joey responded, nodding sympathetically, watching his finger continue its figure-skating routine there, on the couch. "Not as easy as you thought, right?"

"Fucking impossible!" Pacey laughed, more than a little exasperated, stealing a glance up at her. "When he wants to see something – or _not_ see something, as the case may be – he's unbelievably single-minded."

"I'll tell him," Joey said. "It really _should_ be _me_."

"Oh, like you're going to have better luck?"

"Pace – it really should be me," she repeated again, her tone quiet, but resolute.

Pacey nibbled at the inside corner of his mouth, regarding Joey's determined face, considering.

"Why?" he threw out, simply.

"You know why," Joey replied, gazing at him steadily.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Pacey nodded, glancing away. "Yeah…I know why."

Joey saw the flash of insecurity in his eyes before he looked away from her. Earlier, watching Dawson's profile in the studio, gazing at that obsolete painting of them, she remembered feeling sad and then detached. Seeing Pacey now, in profile, a tempered distress evident there, she felt a surge of raw pain travel through her, knowing that she had put that look there. That familiar rush of fear flooded through her -- of doing something wrong in the face of something so important -- and she fought against its silencing tide to at least tell him a few words that he wanted to hear. That _she_ wanted him to hear.

"Pacey," Joey said, her voice soft and imploring, willing his gaze back to her face. "I don't know what I'm doing here. Or how I feel about it. I just know that you're all I think about. And I don't want to think about Dawson, or anything else, right now. I just…can't we just try to figure this out between you and me first? Together?"

Despite the risk of being seen, Pacey bent forward and touched his forehead to hers, nodding slightly. Joey reached over to take his hand and intertwine her fingers with his. "Let's make a deal, okay?" Pacey's blue gaze met her dark solemn eyes, waiting. "Let's agree not to worry about telling him until the end of the week. It's already difficult enough right now, don't you think? And besides, with all of us here, under one roof, well-"

"-it could get ugly," Pacey finished, sighing as he leaned back again. He rubbed his thumb tenderly across Joey's palm. "Yeah, I can agree to that."

Detangling their fingers, he grasped her hand into a traditional handshake grip, and shook it firmly. Keeping her hand in his, Pacey briefly considered sealing the deal, officially, with a kiss, but knew better than to push his luck out here, in the wide open space of the living room. Though the room was unlit, the moon streamed in enough light to bring clarity to shapes and objects, and would most certainly illuminate two people kissing there on the couch, should they be foolhardy enough to do so. His instinct was proven correct just a few seconds later when they heard the door to the back porch open, and Dawson stepped into the house. Pacey quickly tossed Joey's hand back into her lap, smoothly transitioning into a raised hand greeting to their errant friend.

"Hey D. Where ya been?" Pacey asked, sounding more casual than he felt, especially when he saw Dawson immediately make a beeline to Joey's side.

"The night air is extremely fortifying," Dawson announced, smiling. "Uh, Joey? Can I talk to you? Outside?"

"Uh, sure, Dawson," Joey said. When Dawson turned to lead her out, she threw a swift glance at Pacey before rising from the couch to follow him.

"Hey, Jo!" Pacey called out to her. Both Dawson and Joey stopped in their tracks, halfway to the door, turning back toward him. Dawson looked impatient; Joey watched Pacey cautiously. Getting up from the couch, Pacey unzipped the thick dark jacket he wore and shrugged out of it. Walking over to Joey, he placed it around her shoulders. "It's cold outside," he said only, looking down at her, his gaze unfathomable.

Joey brought her arms up within Pacey's jacket to slip them into the overlarge sleeves, and pulling it tighter around her, she gathered herself deeper into its warmth. "Thanks, Pace," she murmured, sending a grateful smile up to him. He nodded his response and looked over at Dawson, standing behind Joey. "See ya later, Dawson."

"Later, Pacey," Dawson replied, tossing him a quick closed-mouth smile before turning away. Pulling on the door, he held it open for Joey. She slipped her bare feet into a clunky pair of galoshes sitting there, just outside, and stepped out of the house. Dawson followed, closing the door behind him.

Pacey stood there for a long second, staring fixedly at that closed door. Then, sighing tiredly, he turned to head back into the bedroom. But someone was standing there in the hallway.

"Hello, Pacey."

It was Aunt Gwen.


	4. Stolen Moments: Chapter Four

The quiet in the room was so loud, it was almost deafening.

"Hello, Aunt Gwen."

She walked toward him, slowly, until she was standing directly in front of him. They eyed each other, unsmiling and assessing. Pacey felt discomfort start to creep up his spine at her continuing probing gaze, but he held his ground and did not drop his eyes. In his opinion, there was absolutely nothing for him to feel badly about. He had a feeling Aunt Gwen did not share his opinion. But then, she sighed, and brought her hand up to rub her eyes. She offered Pacey a tiny smile and inclined her head toward the kitchen.

"Want some hot cocoa? I've got a craving for some chocolate and some company."

Pacey blinked and looked at her blankly for a second. Then, "Uh, sure. Lead the way," he said, as he motioned with his hand for her to precede him. Aunt Gwen glanced down at the gesture and another mysterious smile pulled at her lips before she turned away, walking ahead of him.

Aunt Gwen flipped the light switch on in the kitchen and went over to the refrigerator to get the milk. Pacey settled himself into a chair at the table. Going over to the pantry to get the cocoa powder, she rummaged around a bit and he could hear her shifting things around and putting things back on shelves, muttering, "Now how did that get down there? I must have bumped it last time I was in here." Pacey dropped his eyes and chuckled. She re-emerged with the cocoa in a jar, grabbed a pot from a hanging hook overhead, and went over to the stove to set the milk to warming. Then, she turned around, leaned back against the counter, and looked at Pacey.

"So…we've got quite a situation on our hands here, don't we?"

Pacey glanced back up at her, held her look, then shrugged. "I guess you could call it that."

"What would _you_ call it?"

"Fortuitous circumstances."

"For whom?"

"For everyone that will let it be."

Aunt Gwen glanced down to check on the milk in the pot, taking a wooden spoon from a canister next to the stove, stirring gently so the bottom would not burn.

"Look, Pacey, I don't know you-"

"No, you don't. And you don't know her either."

Aunt Gwen glanced at him again. "I think I know enough of her to see certain things."

Pacey sighed wearily and sat back in his chair, looking down at his hands, the palms resting on the tabletop. "I still think you shouldn't say anything," he said flatly.

"I won't," Aunt Gwen replied, stirring the pot again. "But it's not because I'm doing you any favors."

"And it's not like I'm asking you for any. Just pointing out the right thing here," Pacey said.

"The right thing is subjective."

"And so is the wrong thing," he countered, pointedly. "If you care about him at all – and her too – you'll let us work this out on our own."

"It's not what _I_ care about that's at issue," Aunt Gwen said softly. There was another short silence between them. The milk was bordering on hot, so she switched off the gas on the stove and pulled two mugs from the cabinet above. Pouring milk into both of them, she spooned in the cocoa and a little sugar, stirring for a bit before taking them over to the table. She set one mug down in front of Pacey and then sat in the chair next to him.

"Thanks," Pacey said, picking up the mug. He blew a breath on the surface of the liquid, skimming coolness over it, before taking a sip.

Aunt Gwen took a sip herself before continuing. "Look, I don't intend to make things difficult for you, if that's what you're thinking. It's just that I really want you both to be careful with Dawson's feelings. He's a dreamer and I love that about him. And I think it's what you both love about him too." Aunt Gwen took another sip before speaking again. "Different things propel different people," she added. "Dawson _needs_ his dreams, Pacey. And, like it or not, Joey _is_ his muse."

Pacey stayed quiet, drinking his cocoa. Aunt Gwen sighed. "You know, it wasn't too long ago that I was in your shoes. I'm not that ancient, you know. I fell in love with a dreamer and he helped pull me away from a nightmare of a life I didn't know I was having. I loved my husband, Pacey. But I never should have married him. I was so young. I guess that's what I'm worried about here. You are all so _young_."

"So what are you trying to say here?" Pacey asked. "And what is it that you want us to _do_?"

Aunt Gwen rubbed her eyes again, exhaling softly. "I realize I'm biased here Dawson's my family. But I care about her too, you know." She had seen the tender exchange between him and Joey, earlier, on the couch, in that room lit by the moon, and now, she looked up to meet Pacey's steadfast, level gaze, her own, inquisitive. "You care about her very deeply, don't you?"

His response was swift, simple and sincere. "Yes, I do."

Aunt Gwen glimpsed something familiar in his blue eyes. A singular clarity. A passionate determination. An unequivocal _knowing_. This boy was not a dreamer; Dawson was. But with a start, she realized that what she recognized there was very real. And in that moment, she saw Richard in those eyes. The realization startled her and, dropping her eyes, she stared down at her cocoa, bemused.

"You know, Pacey, before today, all I remembered about you was that you were this eight-year old terror, full of unbelievable energy, running around Gail's yard, tormenting Joey every chance you got."

"That was about half my lifetime ago," Pacey commented, chuckling a little.

Aunt Gwen felt much older, suddenly. This boy next to her was only sixteen years old. She was close to three-and-a-half lifetimes past that former eight-year old boy. Then, she remembered something else. "You also beat off bullies from treading overmuch on Dawson and his dreams. You've always protected him, haven't you?"

Pacey glanced down at his mug, at his finger tracing around its outer rim. "Well, he let me live in that fantastic world of his. It was fun and I liked it much better than mine. That's all." Then, he said, shrugging, "I haven't always deserved it though."

"Right now, you don't seem half-bad." Aunt Gwen commented, taking a long drink of her cocoa. "This doesn't mean I'm fully in your corner though."

"So what does it mean?"

"It means we're at a truce. And I'll stay out of this to let you three work it out on your own. It's the least I could do. Just be careful. Please."

"Thanks. And we'll try," Pacey said, looking up at her, grateful. Then, he added, "You know, Aunt Gwen – you're not half-bad either."

He smiled at her then a sweet, charming smile and in that instant, Aunt Gwen felt a little bit like sixteen all over again. She found herself smiling back, captivated. And as she finished off her cocoa, she chuckled. If Pacey really was anything like Richard, Joey certainly had her work cut out for her.

XXXXX

It _was_ cold outside. Dawson threw a glance at Joey, trudging along beside him, her borrowed galoshes making squishy thumping sounds along the ground as she walked. She had her arms wrapped around herself and was huddling for warmth within Pacey's engulfing jacket. Cursing inwardly, Dawson felt a slight stirring of irritation, directed more at himself rather than anyone else. Joey's voice from that afternoon floated down into his thoughts – _Once upon a time, you had to be the center of attention. Life revolved around you and your dreams. And recently, I've watched you fade into the background and let others shine_. Her observation had both surprised and humbled him.

Yet just now, he had not spared a thought about her lack of layered clothing as he brought her along with him back to the outdoors. A tiny mistake, quickly rectified by Pacey, of course, who seemed to notice everything, but a mistake, nonetheless. Sitting out on the back porch with him earlier, Dawson had felt a niggling sense of unease during their conversation. There was something lurking underneath Pacey's tone that had raised in him a small amount of suspicion. But he had firmly squelched it, for he did not want to jump so hastily to conclusions. Not anymore.

Because he had made so many mistakes this past year. Rejected the only girl he had ever, would ever, love to explore a heightened fantasy with that intoxicating mystery girl, Eve, that had quickly gone bust. Accused his most loyal, stalwart childhood friend of being a thief when he, of all people, should have known better, and engaging in a brawl of sorts with him over something as unimportant as a stupid PSAT answer sheet he never should have had in the first place. Amidst it all, he had lost his drive to re-create his dreams on film and had given it up, for now

Camping under the stars the week before, with Pacey and those three feisty little boys, he had started to feel that yearning to create again, to tell stories that moved and stirred people. That moved and stirred _him_. Last week, at the old fort, Pacey had said, _You're the storyteller, you know? You see everything and figure out what it means._ And Dawson realized that his friendships were the most significant, most stabilizing things in his entire life. Pacey was pure loyalty, always the guy who would do anything for a friend. Joey was his conscience, his soul-mate, his inspiration. Over and over again, they had proved that to him, but he was so often too absorbed in his own one-tracked storytelling to see it. So this time, he wanted to get the stories right.

"Seeing Will again reminds me of us," he said, breaking into the night air silence.

"You and me?" Joey asked, throwing a look over at him.

"No, the three of us – you, me, and Pacey. Remember when Will was around and the four of us used to rule the playground?"

"I remember Pacey and Will fighting to rule and you and me, just letting them. Actually, letting _Will_ rule, after that serious butt-kicking he gave to Pacey. I thought Will was God's greatest gift after that day." Joey giggled at the memory.

"Yeah, I guess that _would_ be more accurate," Dawson laughed.

"That's okay. I like your version too." Reaching over, Joey squeezed his arm kindly, and then loosely linked her arm with his, affectionate. "So where exactly are you taking me, Dawson Leery?" she teased.

"You'll see," he said, on a half-smile. Unlinking their arms, he instead slid his own arm around her more firmly, rubbing her arm where his hand rested to bring her some warmth. Joey's step faltered for a second, and thinking that she had perhaps slipped on the damp ground, Dawson pulled her closer alongside him. "You okay?" His breath was warm at her temple.

"Uh…yeah," she replied, instantly uncomfortable. "I'm fine," she added, stepping away from him.

Dawson frowned a bit, but let the moment slide without comment. They walked for a little while more before reaching a tiny clearing. Then, Joey stopped, her mouth dropping open, her eyes going wide in surprise. Before her, one tree shimmered with blue lights – tiny little flashes blinking on and off from within the leaves, twirling around the branches, and cascading down along the trunk. Dawson came to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.

"What _is_ this?" Joey whispered, overcome. "Did _you_ do this?"

"Yes. Do you like them?"

"They're beautiful. But why?"

"Remember when we watched the Northern Lights from the B & B? Back then, you said you thought the stars would be bluer, and you sounded so disappointed. So I wanted to give you those blue stars, now."

"Where did you get the lights?"

"Aunt Gwen keeps an insane stash of Christmas lights in her storage shed. She's sort of the unofficial keeper of those lights for the town, actually. Everyone drops them off to her after the Christmas holidays and comes to pick them up again right after Thanksgiving. She likes to do it because it brings folks out to visit with her, and they sit around telling stories all day. She says she finds inspiration from all their tales. And from the people that tell them."

They were silent for a few moments, engrossed with the sparkling spectacle before them. Then, Dawson said, "You were right, you know."

"Right about what?"

"That same night, you told me you thought I had lost my True North, that fixed point in the night sky that I guide myself by."

"So have you found it again?"

"Yes, I think I have." He looked down at Joey, who was still staring at those makeshift stars. Studying her face, he thought back to what Aunt Gwen had said to him earlier _when my time is up, I want to know that I did one thing wellloved somebody. The rest of this is just an expression of that one thing._ Then, she had added, _What's your one thing?_ Now, he asked Joey, "Do you still think you don't have a True North?"

Standing there, wrapped in Pacey's jacket, enveloped by his lingering presence, still protected by his warmth, she suddenly wanted to tell Dawson. But tell him…_what_? She remembered the pact she had just made with Pacey back in the living room. Just him and her, figuring things out, together, at least until the end of the week. Yet looking into Dawson's revitalized expression, seeing the kindling of fresh hope there, she knew she had to tell him sooner. But not right now. Not this moment.

"My own fixed point? I don't know yet." She hugged Pacey's jacket more closely around herself. "But we'll see."

XXXXX

_I think you two girls should take the bed for the rest of our stay. That way, we can avoid any awkward sleeping permutations_, Will had said to Andie, relinquishing his place in the corner to Pacey and unrolling another sleeping bag to take his place in the spot where Andie lay the night before, leaving room next to him for Dawson to occupy upon his return. Those two fell asleep almost instantly. Pacey stayed awake for some time awaiting the arrival of the prodigals, but the long day caught up to him fast, and he was sound asleep when Dawson and Joey finally re-entered the bedroom.

On the bed, Joey lay in the place where Pacey had been, having quietly crept over to that spot upon entering the room, careful not to disturb the sleeping bodies on the floor nor the slumbering girl sprawled on the far side of the bed. As she lay there, with Andie making soft sleep whimpers beside her, Pacey curled up on the floor in the near corner, Will settled there at foot of the bed, and Dawson shifting into a more comfortable sleeping position next to him, Joey pondered over all of the sudden shifts and changes that had happened over the course of just twenty-four hours. It was dizzying, what the events of this one day had wrought. And tomorrow, Monday, was yet another day. Sighing, Joey closed her eyes, thoughts of blue stars and fixed points and a thick warm jacket guiding her into deep slumberous dreams of her own.


	5. Stolen Moments: Chapter Five

**MONDAY**

According to textbooks, the narratives of history proceed forward on a linear path, a chronology of time and events, with facts attached to it for evidentiary purposes, as if to prove, that yes, indeed, this was so. Yet in real life, narratives cannot be imposed – history asserts itself upward, from beneath the surface of things, and human stories do not march forward, end to end, but scatter themselves, simultaneously thriving. Order reveals itself much later, in a future finally surpassed, safely beyond all preceding events and moments, any random facts and figures, every memory and recollection. These were the lofty thoughts that ran through Will's mind as he leaned against the sink, eyeing the perkiest morning person he had ever met, standing in front of him.

"So who is the _real_ villain?" Will inquired of Andie, before taking a bite of his meticulously-assembled bacon, scrambled egg, cheese, and ketchup breakfast sandwich. He always kept his inner musings to himself, asking only the most pertinent of questions

"You keep mixing it all up! Like I said last night Watergate, the event, not Nixon, the presidency!" Andie answered, insistent. She and Will had already been in the middle of this further debate of that prior topic for some time now.

"Why do the lines have to be so clearly drawn? It's not like that in real life. Real life is messy."

"I'm talking about a history assignment. This has nothing to do with real life!"

Will stopped chewing to stare at her. "Did you hear what you just said?" Andie paused, her croissant in mid-air. "You just said that history has nothing to do with real life."

Will's sober gaze was met with a solemn answering nod from Andie. And then, they were both laughing.

At the table, Pacey glanced up from his heaping bowl of Cheerios, the merry sounds drawing his attention. That was an Andie flirty, bubbly laugh and it had been a long time since he last heard it. It made him smile, remembering. Will was chortling, hearty. Actually, it had been some time since he heard Will laugh like that too. He grew thoughtful, absently twirling his spoon within his cereal bowl.

Across the table, Dawson watched Pacey. He could hear Will and Andie laughing behind him and surmised that the contemplative expression on his best friend's face was somehow connected to the goings-on by the kitchen sink. He lowered his forked sausage back onto his plate and telepathically tried to communicate his empathy with understanding eyes. But Pacey's gaze was fixed just beyond his shoulder, unwavering. So Dawson looked over at Joey, to see if she was seeing what he was seeing.

At the head of the table, right between them, Joey was looking at no one. She studiously kept her stare locked onto the two pieces of wheat toast, generously slathered with butter and boysenberry jam, on her plate. Tearing off small pieces, she brought each one up to her mouth, one bite at a time, keeping her head down.

Of the three at the table, she had awoken first. Will and Andie were long gone from the bedroom when she finally opened her eyes, yawning and stretching into morning consciousness. Instantly, she had looked over to the corner by the wall toward Pacey. He was flung out on his back, limbs outstretched, mouth slightly open, still sleeping. She sighed. Pacey J. Witter slept like the ugly dead. Rolling all the way over to the other side of the bed, she dismounted from it. Peeking over its foot, she saw that Dawson was also still asleep, huddled there in his sleeping bag, his head and face covered. All she could see of him were stray waves of golden-blond hair. So she left the room, and its two sleeping occupants, to join the rest of the awake-brigade in the kitchen.

Aunt Gwen had laid out a self-serve buffet of standard morning fare – scrambled eggs, shredded cheese, a stack of crispy bacon, slices of toast, a pile of sausage sticks, a box of Cheerios, butter croissants amidst several jars of homemade fruit jam, and milk, coffee, and fresh orange juice. Having been the earliest bird awake that morning, Will had caught Aunt Gwen just as she was laying out the table, cheerfully assisted her in the task, and then agreed to take on substitute host duties while she went into town for an all-morning meeting with the out-of-town couple that was buying her cottage.

Andie and Will were chattering gaily about their plans for the rest of the day when Joey sleepily shuffled into the kitchen. Actually, Andie was chattering; Will was nodding and smiling. They greeted her, cheerful, and Joey managed a tolerable positive response, going straight for the coffee. Sixteen years old and already a caffeine addict. This did not bode well for the future, she thought, wryly. At least she had progressed from taking it black to adding a bit of cream and sugar, which probably did not detract at all from its addictive influence. Andie came over then, asking her to come into the living room for a bit, while Will went over to the table to assemble his heaping breakfast sandwich. So Joey followed Andie out of the kitchen, coffee in hand.

"I just wanted to talk to you for a bit before the other two wake up. Once those three unleash all of that testosterone into the air, our poor estrogen-y selves won't stand a chance," Andie explained, going over to the couch and plopping down onto it. She patted the cushion next to her, so Joey came over, putting her mug down on top of a corkboard daisy coaster on the low coffee table. Andie continued, "We haven't really had a chance to do much girl-talk since we've gotten here."

"Are you in need of some girl-talk?" Joey asked, wary.

"Yes, actually, I am." Andie paused, her brown eyes sheened soft with recollection. "I've been thinking about what you said to me last Thanksgiving."

"Which was…?" Joey inquired, trying to recall the memory.

"You said it gets easier. Being in the same room with someone you used to love."

"I said that?"

"Yeah. And I wanted to thank you because even though it was impossible God, unbearable! to imagine back then, it was the truth. Pacey and I…well…we've come to an understanding. And we're friends. That makes me happier than I can imagine. Well – okay, maybe not _happier_ than I could imagine – I guess I _could_ imagine something pretty joyous if I _really_ wanted to-"

"-Andie," Joey interrupted, stopping the flow of the other girl's anxious rambling. "Are you okay?"

"Of course! Well, I _should_ be, right? I mean, I think I'm starting to like Will a lot."

"Well, that's good, right? I think he likes you too."

"Yeah…but, then there's Pacey."

"What does Pacey have to do with it?"

Andie took a breath before saying, softly, her eyes lowered, "Sometimes, I think I feel him watching me, when he thinks I'm not looking."

Joey went still and focused very hard on keeping her face from twitching in any way.

"You do, huh?"

"I'm not sure, of course. I admitted to him last night that I kind of like Will. And it got me to thinking…you've always been such a good friend to both of us, Joey. I mean, I know he's a doofus, as you've often said, but maybe you could talk to him? See if he's okay with it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like you did with me. All of your advice from your own experience with Dawson, well, it helped me a lot. And your advice about Pacey – that helped me too, especially when I couldn't tell what was going on with him. " Joey's own words to Andie hurtled back to her, from last autumn, _You know Pacey. I mean, if he can't come up with a clever quip about something, then he goes stoic. The way he feels about you, he keeps that close to his heart. It's really precious to him, Andie._

"I think he'll be fine," Joey said quickly.

"But you'll make sure he will be, right?" Andie's eyes were a deep supplicating brown in that instant.

"Uh…yeah," Joey said, nodding, dropping her eyes. "Sure."

Andie chuckled, sheepish. "I have to admit, there were times I got a little jealous of you. You were spending so much time with Pacey! All of the work on the B & B, mornings and nights, lunchtimes at school, dance lessons and tutoring after-school. I know you helped him a lot with his boat too. You guys do _everything_ together these days!"

Joey found herself exhaling on a breathless laugh, the irony of that innocent remark cutting guilt into her. "Well, not _everything_," she tossed out, leaning down to pick up her coffee and sipping slowly, to cover her uneasiness.

"I just…I really want to explore this thing with Will. But I don't want to hurt Pacey's feelings in any way. Because like I told him last night, it's better to be open and honest about these things, so there's no burden of guilt, you know?"

"Right," Joey replied, keeping her gaze lowered, Andie's words burrowing deep.

"So what about you and Dawson?"

Joey looked back up at Andie, surprised. "Me and Dawson?"

"You two seem so comfortable around each other again. It's really nice. Are you going to miss your annual Spring Break ritual, when Aunt Gwen sells this cottage?"

"Karaoke duets aside, Dawson and I have too many rituals together to _not_ stay connected. And we'll still have our Movie Nights."

"Oh yeah. You'll always have those! I wish I had something like that with Pacey," Andie said, a little wistful. "I think you never love anyone else like you loved your very first love," she continued, more pensive this time. And then, she raised a steady, determined gaze up to meet Joey's tentative one, straight on. "But a girl has to move on, right?"

And now, sitting at the head of the kitchen table, with Pacey seated on her right and Dawson on her left, opposite one another, she could sense Pacey watching Andie and Will, could feel Dawson looking at her. Despite that, she was afraid to glance upward, to meet either pair of eyes at this moment. When they had come into the kitchen, shortly after she and Andie had returned to it, she was apprehensive, wondering how she should greet each of them, after the events of the previous night. Dawson had come over to her first, his lips quirked in a half-smile, wishing her a good morning, squeezing her elbow with familiar affection before moving off to the table laden with food. Just a few steps behind him, Pacey came strolling up, stopping before Joey to mumble their now-typical salutation.

"Hey."

To which she responded, a little nervous, "Hey."

But then, he smirked, pushing at her shoulder, playful. "Nice snore symphony last night, Potter! Between you and McPhee," he paused to throw a teasing look over at Andie on the other side of the table, "enough sound was unleashed to wake the dead!"

"Whatever, Witter," Andie answered, rolling her eyes, but then she smiled at him, bright and warm.

"Last I saw, you were dead to the world yourself. Would've been nice if you just stayed that way," Joey replied, automatically acerbic.

"Aww…but then you would've missed my usual wit and wisdom, this fine morning, Josephine. Admit it," he said, his eyes glinting challenge down at her.

"Wit plus wisdom plus you. I admit it," she responded, following along this familiar track he was laying, "Does not add up _at all_."

"And so it begins…" Dawson intoned dryly, setting his plate down, and then himself, right in front of it.

"Did it ever end?" Will asked, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"See? Testosterones!" Andie pronounced, sending a significant look Joey's way.

This time, it was Joey who rolled her eyes, turning away from Pacey to lean over and grab her two pieces of wheat toast, the jar of boysenberry jam, and a plate. Going over to the head of the table, she plopped herself down to eat. Pacey grabbed the Cheerios, spilled a large majority of it into a big bowl, and then poured milk over it. Taking the seat opposite the table from Dawson, he set himself to eating quickly, before the crunch in his cereal got soggy. And that was how they came to be, these three, at the foot of the table, surrounding it, yet encircled by each other.

Confusion comes in several colors. This was what Joey was thinking, as she kept her gaze firmly anchored to her plate. Crystal blue and cornflower blue, one on each side of her. Deep brown hazel, with hints of green and gray – those were hers. Dark brown and inquiring gray, over at the sink. Momentous shifts can reveal themselves in the looks people share, caught out by the gazes that probe or assess, watching for truths better left concealed. Memories mix up the colors. That is where the confusion comes from. Yet her memories were not nebulous, not at all conceptual, but flesh-and-blood real – these breathing, living beings with desires and intentions she could not read, in all of the eyes around her. So for now, she avoided them all.

Of all these reflections coalescing in this instant, Joey locked on to the fact that she needed to tell Dawson sooner rather than later. But how? And when? Should she talk to Pacey first? And what about Andie? Too many recollections of past histories were swirling about, bewildering her with all of their unclear implications. Her equilibrium upset again, Joey took some steadying breaths, quietly, attempting to be inconspicuous. Was this what a panic attack felt like? Under the table, she felt Pacey's hand brush lightly against her thigh. His pinky finger slid over the pinky finger of the hand she had set to rest in her lap, linking them and then squeezing gently, reassuring. Her peripheral vision noted that he kept his face forward, only his profile to her, but she felt comforted by the slight contact. She squeezed back and caught a ghost of smile on his lips. Equilibrium was restored.

"So what about you guys? You up for the arts & crafts fair in town later? Aunt Gwen said she'd come back later this afternoon to come pick up any takers," Andie said, coming back over to the table, Will trailing close behind. Pacey released Joey's pinky under the table and took his hand his back to his own lap.

"I'm in," Dawson announced. "Aunt Gwen sells some of her own paintings there too. Pacey? Joey?"

"Uh…maybe," Pacey said, not sounding particularly enthused.

"Probably," Joey said, almost at the same time, her tone more favorable. Then, "You know, Pace, a little bit of exposure to the arts might provide a good upgrade to your personality."

"No thanks. I'm perfectly happy being my own as-is self," he replied, leaning back in his seat, awaiting her next salvo.

But then, Andie chimed in, teasing. "Pacey J. Witter, still priced to sell."

"Always a fixer-upper," Pacey automatically tossed back, jaunty.

"But_ never_ damaged goods," Andie replied, in step with a remembered tempo.

"Nope – perfection personified," Pacey finished off, sending Andie a grin that she returned, in kind, the both of them in complete accord.

Dawson was amused. Will grew contemplative. Meanwhile, for Joey, equilibrium was promptly destroyed.

XXXXX

The gang split up the morning house chores, to keep things fair, and to express their gratitude as guests in a beneficial way. Since Dawson was a family member, accustomed to the horses, and Will had spent significant time on a relative's farm in New Raleigh, they got the barn duties, including care and feeding of the animals. Joey got the clearing away of food and pantry items as well as trash duty. Andie got the dishwashing, and Pacey got the drying and putting away of dishes, platters, and glasses. He also got the eventual wipe down of counters, tabletops and stove.

Pacey could hear Joey moving about inside the pantry, putting away the jars of jam and other sundry things. She had gotten very quiet at the table, after their initial spurts of banter. Now, she seemed hell-bent on staying out of view. Beside him, Andie scrubbed and rinsed, humming gaily. So he started teasing her again, something along the lines of her current humming far outstripping her actual singing from the night before, in melody, tune, and general palatableness and Andie whipped back with a wry comment about his earlier "snore symphony" comment, and they were off and running again.

Their cadence was so easy to slip into, just like earlier, when he had effortlessly shifted into that past rhythm with her, recalling, in shorthand, that conversation from opening night of the school play as if it were just yesterday and not several months ago. _Girls have these idiotic, misguided notions about guys. I mean, we think we can spruce 'em up and turn 'em into something they're not,_ she had said. _I wasn't exactly what you'd call a luxury model. I did have fixer-upper written all over me,_ he replied. _Yeah, you pretty much were priced to sell, weren't you? _she had teased. And then, at his admission to being "damaged goods," she had countered, _Pacey...I was wrong. There was never anything about you that needed fixing up. There never was, and there never will be. 'Cause you are perfect as is._ And he had replied, in kind, _You, too, Andie._

Next to him, Andie was indulging in musings of her own. She was a pragmatic girl and only believed in what she could see in front of her. She had known the disturbing, even destructive, power of illusions – had spent a summer away at a facility and even now continued medications to ensure absolute clarity in all things so she always based her own conclusions on facts that could be touched, felt, and verified. She could never trust nebulous notions beneath the surface of things; she needed them to be tangible.

When she was with Pacey, who was never unclear with his intentions or with his actions, behaving always with the conviction of his passions, she had learned to see things differently. To _see_ things, _period_. Things that were real, and not the dangerous illusions. They were teasing each other now, and it felt natural, comfortable. As she scrubbed at the plates, rinsing them under the soothing water, handing them to Pacey to towel off into dryness, their fingers touching sometimes in that hand-off, Andie grew wistful again. He had told her once that she had changed his life; well, he had _saved_ hers. She glanced outside, at the trees, yearning for a solitary walk to mull over this particular piece of clarity that suddenly made all other things unclear.

Now, Pacey was saying, "I'll finish this up, Andie," taking the sponge from her hands, having noticed her frequent surreptitious glances out the window.

"You sure? I _would_ like to go outside and walk around for a bit," she said, grateful, switching off the faucet and wiping her hands dry in the towel Pacey had handed her. "It's so pretty outside."

"Go on, get outta here, McPhee," he prodded, placing his hand at her waist to firmly guide her away from the sink and toward the kitchen door. "You know you want to."

Andie took his hand and squeezed it, lingering. "Thanks, Pace." When he smiled down at her, she felt a familiar comfort. But it was tinged sharply now with regret. So she dropped his hand and went over to the door. "See you later, Joey!" she called toward the unseen girl in the pantry, recollecting her thoughts, before walking out, resolute.

When the door closed, Pacey turned toward the pantry. "So – you ever gonna come out of there, Jo? Or are you planning to set up shop in there for the rest of your life?"

He heard nothing for a long minute. Then, some rustling from within, a heavy sigh, and Joey stepped out of the pantry, clutching a large black-green GLAD bag full of the morning's trash in one hand. She stayed standing, still, by its entrance, her eyes downcast, so Pacey walked over to her.

"Talk to me, Jo," he said to her, his tone quiet, his hands in his pockets, not touching her. He sensed she was poised for flight and he had no idea why.

When Joey looked up at him, all she saw was crystal blue confusion mirrored back at her. They were alone in the kitchen, but they were not by themselves. All around them, too many histories swirled. She found nothing that felt safe to grab onto. She grew sad in that moment and then, inexplicably, angry. Pacey saw that shift in her eyes, the dark brown submerged in a cloudy gray, those colors altered by her emotions. He had never noticed while they were growing up that Joey's eyes were more than just a liquid brown, but lately, he had started to see many things he was never close enough to see before. It was a revelation, and sometimes, a curse. He started to reach for her, but she stepped back quickly.

"I can't," she choked out and then turned abruptly, heading in the opposite direction, toward the back porch. Before he could even blink twice, she was gone.


	6. Stolen Moments: Chapter Six

Pacey bent down to pick up the trash bag Joey had left in her wake, simultaneously sorting through his feelings. Alarmed concern. Great bewilderment. Growing irritation. Yup, that about did it, he thought to himself, grimly wry. He made his way out to the back porch, passing Joey leaning against a sturdy, roof-supporting beam, one elbow on the railing, looking off in the distance. Their glances did not meet as he passed her to take the trash over to the large bin at the side of the house, just off the side steps, though he noted her presence there from his periphery vision and she stiffened when she sensed him move by. Pacey lifted the lid up on the bin and tossed the bag into it, his movements unhurried. Turning, he re-mounted the steps and then went over to the railing a few feet away from Joey, resting on his own elbow, supporting himself upon it.

"So," Pacey began, his tone casual, "are you going to tell me what that was all about in there?"

Joey lowered her eyes and shrugged, staying silent. Pacey chewed on the inside of his cheek, thoughtful, watching her.

"Are you mad at me about something? Did I _do_ something?" he asked. "Because honestly, I can't recall a single thing I could've done to make you angry this morning."

She sighed, defeated. "I'm not angry at you," she murmured, so soft, he had to bend forward a little to catch it. "Not really."

"Then what is it?" he questioned, moving so that he stood directly in front of her, separated only by a few inches now.

When she stole a glance up at his face, Joey saw concern there, and beneath that, a slight vexation. The earlier confusion came back now, petrifying her feelings, locking her tongue from words. She swallowed, and tried to push past it, but "I don't know," was all she could manage. Then, before her tongue could fail her again, she pushed out the one clear thought she had been having all morning. "I think I should tell Dawson _now_."

Pacey just stared at her. The moment stretched out, long. It was unnerving and Joey felt a flush creep over her cheeks. Then, he looked off, sighing heavily. "I thought we went over this already."

"We did."

"Then why is it coming up again?" he asked, looking at her once more, frustration now seeping into his tone.

"It's always going to come up again. And again and again," Joey said, turning now to face him fully, her hands fluttering up, as if to bolster what she was saying. "And it's not just about Dawson either. There's Andie too."

"Andie." Pacey's voice was flat. "What about her?"

"She was your first love. If you felt about her the way I felt about Dawson-"

"-I did and I didn't. We're all different, Jo. People are different about that stuff."

"What stuff?"

Pacey let out a harsh chuckle. "Whatever stuff you seem to be freaking out about right now. Joey, what is this _really_ about? Because you're pushing me away pretty hard right now. And I'm not sure I like it." He paused, a thought emerging, and he threw it out between then. "Are you _jealous_?"

Joey's tongue locked up again. _Jealous. _Somehow, that word seemed inadequate to describe what she was feeling. She and Pacey went much farther back on the timeline of their enmeshed histories than Andie and Pacey did. But those two had shared an intense romance, a very deep connection. She was a casual bystander during their initial coming together, wrapped up in her own complicated coupling with Dawson, but she had witnessed their entire heartbreaking aftermath. A memory flashed from the beginning of the school year. She, standing in the doorway of Andie's room at Mayfield Mental Hospital, watching the beginnings of a wrenching tableau unfold. Her, with Mark, that fellow patient and "friend", maneuvering, awkward, through an underlying shift no one could quite grasp in that instant. Him, just beyond Andie's shoulder, bewildered, a little lost, his expression, on the verge of battered. Theirs was a tragic history, full of selves regained and salvations lost. Her own experiences with Pacey were decidedly more mundane in the face of it.

Yet she and Pacey _did_ have a history together, despite her broken-off rambling from the night before. _It's the history. It's killing me. How can a guy compete when you two have your own karaoke routine?_ he had thrown out, frustrated then, too. _Pacey, you're not supposed to compete! We're supposed to have our own hist-,_ and then she had stopped herself, startled by the implications of that statement, changing course to veer away from them, quickly inserting instead, _I didn't mean that_. And then, as now, he continued to question her, pushing at her inherent tendencies to move much more slowly. _Well, what _**_did_**_ you mean?_ And now, as then, she grabbed at words, just to reply, no matter how inconclusive.

"I don't know, Pacey," she said. "I feel all mixed-up inside."

"Did something happen last night?" he asked then, his voice quiet and taut.

"What?" Joey felt her chest constricting and through an unexpected breathlessness, managed to exclaim, "No!"

"Nothing's changed, right?" It was a question, but his tone was unyielding.

"What do you mean? _Everything's_ changed!" she answered, agitated, a little of the earlier anger returning. "But I don't know if I want it to!"

"You don't know if you want it to," he said, repeating each of her words back to her, deliberate and slow, so it was more of a statement than a query.

"That's not…I didn't mean…I don't know what I'm saying, Pacey," she replied in a rush, her hands gesticulating again, because she still could not find the words she wanted or needed to say.

He grew quiet again. Standing there, facing each other off, a growing distance between them extended further.

"So when are you gonna do it?" Pacey asked her. His fingers had unconsciously curled into fists during their recent exchange, and now, he opened them and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

"I don't know," Joey said, still exasperated.

"You say 'I don't know' an awful lot, Jo."

"Look, I've still got to figure it out. It's got to be exactly the right moment-"

"-There's never _exactly_ the right moment, Joey," Pacey pointed out, interrupting her. "We made that pact last night. Maybe we should stick to it."

"But maybe certain things need to _happen_ first-"

"-Maybe _we_ need to happen first!" he hurled out, the exclamation skidding up against Joey's already sensitive nerves, causing her to hitch her breath, startled. At the soft, but carrying sound, Pacey took a deep breath and pulled his aggravation back into himself. Then, searching her wide eyes, which were glued to his, he continued, more subdued, "There's something you're not telling me, Jo."

"This is…it's…nothing," she finished, looking away, giving up on finding the right words, her truncated thoughts, again offering up indistinct implications.

And then, Will was coming around the corner, whistling a sprightly tune, on his way back to the house, from the barn. "Hey, you two," he called out, good-natured, climbing the porch steps in short order. Sensing tension in the air, he paused. "Sorry. Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Pacey said, his jaw tight. "There's nothing here to interrupt. Right, Joey?" When Joey glanced back at him, he pinned her with a hard stare. "Absolutely _nothing_."

Joey gazed at him, aghast. Pacey had completely misconstrued her words. With panicked realization, she knew that she had, once again, obscured their meaning. She glanced over at Will, who looked confused and chagrined. Just over his shoulder, she saw Dawson now making his way around the corner, coming straight toward them. Feeling ambushed, Joey threw a quick, hunted look at Pacey and then shouldered her way past him, past Will, and past Dawson, perched at the beginning of his own ascent up the stairs. Bewildered at the sudden, rushed exit, Dawson watched her go, and then shifted his gaze back up at the two boys on the porch.

"What happened?" he asked, concerned.

Pacey dropped his eyes without answering and went over to the wicker settee, to sit down, sighing heavily. Dawson looked at Will, who shrugged, his face expressionless. His gaze flickered back over to Pacey, briefly turning accusatory, before he turned to follow in Joey's hurried wake, back around the corner and straight toward the barn, where he saw her disappearing into its entrance. Will walked over to the wicker chair next to the settee and sat down. He did not say a word as Pacey buried his face in his hands, mumbling exasperated curses.

"So…um…last I checked? Joey lost those playground pigtails a long time ago. I think it's safe to presume that you can ease off on the merciless teasing."

"Shove it, Cruddy."

"Don't shoot my message, man. I'm just trying to help you out here."

"I think I've got this one, thanks."

"Well, that's obvious," Will said, his tone wry.

"Is this your new and improved version of kicking my butt all over the playground, Will?" Pacey asked, bringing his head up to throw a baleful glare at him.

Will shrugged. "Look, Pace. I can recognize pretty quickly when someone is lashing out because of insecurity and fear. If you were sitting where I am now, you'd see it too. We've both seen it too many times in our own lives to _not_ see the signs." Pacey nodded, reluctantly concurring, and sat back, weary, as Will continued. "That's the part I hate about our fathers the most, you know? They pop up in us when we least expect it. And at the most inappropriate times."

"Touché, William Cruddy," Pacey said dryly, the previous harshness, somewhat mollified.

After a brief pause, Will continued, his tone observant, "You seemed like you were coming down pretty hard on her. But what do I know? I came late to the conversation."

Pacey leaned his head back against the settee headrest and stared up at the porch ceiling. "I just don't know how I'm supposed to_ be_ around her, these days."

Will sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees. Laughing quietly, he shook his head. Pacey shifted his own head to look at him, questioning. "You used to get mad at Joey for stealing Dawson away from you," Will explained. "Now, you're mad at her because _you're_ stealing her away from _Dawson_."

"I don't think Joey would appreciate being thought of as _stolen_," Pacey said, chuckling. "That woman would kick us both up and down all the playgrounds on this earth if she heard us referring to her as if she was someone's possession to steal." He sat up now, glancing at the corner of the house where Joey had disappeared around, earlier. "But you're right. I think I'm just scared. And so is she – probably more than me." Sighing, he added, "I guess that would explain the current state of broken communications between us."

"So if it's broke, you fix it," Will commented, matter-of-fact.

"If Dawson doesn't fix it first," Pacey replied, blunt.

"Somehow, I don't think he has what it takes to fix _this_."

"Well, Krudski, my dear fellow, that's always been the story of our lives. I break things; Dawson fixes them. And when it comes to Joey, well, he's her handyman of choice, more often than not."

"You don't have to keep to that narrative. You can revise it. Write a different story as you go forward." Will leaned back in his chair again. "We aren't reckless third-graders anymore."

A rueful smile pulled at Will's lips. He had beat the crap out of Pacey Witter when they were kids and now here he was, on this front porch years later, giving that very same boy a pep talk and a little advice. He recalled exactly when they became more than just enemies. His father had bumped into Pacey's dad at a Capeside watering hole one Friday night, just two weeks after the playground incident, and then after more than just a few beers, was invited by Sheriff Witter to come along on a fishing trip with them that very next Saturday. By extension, Will was forced to go. And when that day began, he was sullen and silent, protesting the circumstances. By contrast, Pacey was unruly and a smart-ass – a less subtle rebellion.

When they docked that evening in a cove across the bay, the two boys were stuck keeping each other company for hours, being the only eight-year old boys in a twenty-one-year-old-and-over bar. But no one was going to deny Sheriff Witter his off-duty liquoring and Daddy Krudski happily went along, partaking in the special, bottomless privileges extended to law enforcement officers in a small town. So, in order to stave off sheer boredom, Will and Pacey learned to play a ruthless game of billiards from some good-natured pool sharks who thought it would be fun to teach two little boys how to hustle.

Afterwards, the sons both became the caretakers as they assisted their drunk and belligerent sires back onboard the boat, ignoring the inebriated curses and constant criticisms flung at them throughout. And, together, they worked that seafaring vessel back to that initial harbor, to where they had begun. But from that day onward, though they never spoke about it and never alluded to any changes or shifts between them, they were friends. And the triangle that was Dawson, Joey, and Pacey expanded briefly to include himself, becoming a square. And sometimes, more often than not, two separate pairs. But his family left town just one year later, following the factory work that had fled first, and he was tossed into further battles on different playgrounds in New Raleigh while Pacey went back to the familiar dynamics of that Capeside triumvirate.

"I wonder what it would have been like if I had never left Capeside," Will mused aloud.

Pacey was now eyeing Will, thoughtful. "You know, Will. I missed having you around all these years. I'm glad we stayed friends. And who knows? If you hadn't moved to New Raleigh, maybe all of this would have been about _you_."

"I highly doubt that," Will said, sardonic. They shared an easygoing laugh, that familiar accord reasserting itself. Then, "Pacey?"

"Yeah?"

"Um…Andie's really cool," Will continued, tentative.

"Yeah, she is." Pacey fixed him with a considering look. "You like her, Will?"

"Maybe. You okay with that?"

Pacey shrugged. "Look, man – she's a woman of her own mind – and it's a fine mind, at that. She likes you back, you're as good as gold."

"But she was your girlfriend once."

"Yes, she was," Pacey answered slowly. "But that was a long time ago. We're just friends now. That's all." He looked at him, his gaze level and steady. "You don't need my permission, Krudski. You never did and you never will. She's an awesome person. Just be aware of that. And honor it."

"Absolutely," Will concurred, his face earnest.

"By the way," Pacey said, gesturing out toward the trees. "I have it on good authority that she's off taking a solitary walk somewhere out there. Why don't you go find our favorite perky lass and get in some quality alone-time."

"She _is_ pretty perky," Will chuckled. "I like that about her."

"You'll come to love that about her, believe me. You'll _have_ to."" Pacey said on a wry smile. "But it's a good thing. Great, actually.

Will laughed and got to his feet. "See ya, Pace."

"Yeah, see ya, Will."

"Oh, and Pacey?"

"Yeah?"

"About the quality alone-time with a certain lass we both know? I'd suggest you take your own advice."

After Will went off to go find Andie, Pacey sat on the porch for a few moments longer, still and thoughtful. Then, he stood to re-enter the house, to go back to the kitchen, to the chores he had started before, to finally finish them. Because he had learned over the years that one should always finish what one starts. Especially when it came to cleaning up prior messes made by a group of teenagers around a breakfast table that had been loaded to excess, not just with food, but with underpinning repercussions, even now spilling out all around them.

XXXXX

As Dawson approached the barn, his thoughts grew deeply contemplative. Throughout the years, he had witnessed many an aftermath like this one. Pacey's skill at taunting Joey to the verge of tears was legendary, though more often than not, had landed him with a black eye or a bruised jaw on several occasions, courtesy of a vicious left hook that must have been bestowed upon her by the gods, because professional pugilism definitely did not run in her family. And tears, if they actually came, would only come afterwards, when the boy who caused them was out of sight, far away from this girl who always gave as good as she got. On those few occasions, the tears would fall almost always within the sanctity of his room, Kleenex box and a feel-better movie ready to view at hand. With this pair, his two best friends, quarreling and quibbling with each other were nothing new. But lately, with each ensuing battle, the intensity of the grappling seemed to increase, ironically, during a time he thought they had moved past mere toleration and toward an actual growing appreciation of each other.

He still recalled Pacey's rant in the Capeside County Jail last Valentine's Day, its fierceness bordering on cruel. _I mean, honestly, do you have any idea how exhausting it is to exist on your periphery to witness this perpetual dance that you two have? One week you're soul mates, the next week you're giving each other up for the greater good. I mean, do you think it's possible that sometime soon you could make up your mind, please? Yeah, and the reverence that you two treat this little saga of yours with, it's enough to make a guy wanna puke._ And he did, literally, rising up straight away to cast his alcoholic ingestions directly into the jail cell sink. Though his inebriated fury had been directed at both him and Joey, he sensed that Joey was the more overwrought one, needled deep by those sharp jabs thrown out at her from Pacey's angry outburst. Dawson, still nursing his own wounds from Joey's scathing comments about his attempts to be a carefree teenage boy, was actually, at the time, secretly glad for the respite.

Then, just last month, during the whole incident with Matt Caulfield and his desecration of Joey's school hall mural, Pacey had gone off to defend that same girl he had attacked with words, himself, only a few months before that, using his fists instead to pummel the wrongdoer, almost landing into certain suspension because of it. Only Principal Green's fair-mindedness saved Pacey from that Fate, though he, himself, was not so lucky in the face of the larger, unfairly discriminating Capeside populance. But he remembered Joey, casting those aspersions onto Pacey, assuming that he only came to her assistance solely because of his own directions to do so, as if Pacey could not genuinely care about her on his own. Because, of course, he _could_ and _did_, he was sure. They had all been friends for a very long time. Genuine concern for each other was a given, and he was quick to point that out to her that day.

But Pacey and Joey had worked out their differences on their own after that Valentine's Day incident. And they found a better footing after the mural situation as well. Dawson remembered how pleased he was to see them in the school hallway, their peaceful relations restored, coating a fresh layer of white paint over that defaced mural, together. And Pacey had rented her that wall, too, so that Joey could paint her emerging visions upon it. The gesture spoke volumes about his evolving capacity to be more generous and kind, especially toward _this_ girl, his longtime nemesis. They were learning, finally, to get beyond the fighting, and Dawson could not help but think that it was a good thing.

So now, he would fix that which was broken, so they could all three continue on, a natural balance restored. It was what he had always done; how they had always proceeded. After almost a year of relegating himself to the background, he was ready to step in, once again, to fulfill that usual role. Because he was beginning to get a much better clarity about what he wanted and needed in his life. And _who_ he wanted and needed in that life as he painted his own emerging visions into the future.

"Joey?" Dawson queried, walking into the barn, his step slow but steady.

Joey sat on a small stool, next to one of the horse stalls, looking dejected and a little sad. When she looked up at him, her dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears, he bent down to squatting before her, so that his gaze would be level with hers. Placing a hand on each of her knees, he smiled at her, sympathetic and reassuring.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Joey stared at him blankly for a second, seemingly recalling something, perhaps from before or even from another place or time. He could not tell. But her eyes grew soft in that instant, and he could see her retreating into herself, into some memory, so he kept his own gaze trained there, watching. An absent-minded smile curved at the corners of her mouth. Then a spark of something flickered in those liquid brown eyes, glimmering green beneath, an effect of the early afternoon sunshine now glazing this barn's dark interior through the large opening in the hay loft above. She opened her mouth, about to speak. As if compelled, Dawson leaned forward and instead of letting the words come forth, he tentatively bent to touch his lips to hers.


	7. Stolen Moments: Chapter Seven

Throughout their lives, Dawson had always been the one to come after her, to see if she was all right, bringing solace with his words and shared empathy. So when Joey looked up to see him standing above her, sympathetic and concerned, she was not surprised. Yet she did not feel the usual relief or comfort. When he crouched to level their gazes, linking their eyes in the here and now, she found herself slipping into a memory from before instead.

Dawson's question recalled a similar inquiry, more a statement, from earlier that morning, when she was standing, uncertain, before a pantry door, clutching a trash bag in her hand. _Talk to me, Jo_. From there, the memory glided to the night before, into that pantry with another boy, any talking, superfluous. And then, to this barn, in those shadows, just over Dawson's shoulder, by that corner against the wall, that other boy and her, caught up in each other. These brief flashes unexpectedly freed her from that earlier oppressive confusion. She decided that _now_ was the right moment to tell Dawson. So she opened her mouth to let the words spill out. But in the instant they would have emerged, a pair of warm lips came closer to brush hers, thus, averting disclosure.

As Dawson's lips touched hers the contact brief, an instant only she froze, surprised. And then, on reflex, she pushed at his chest, so hard, she tumbled back off the stool as he plopped backwards on his ass, landing heavy on his tailbone. He grunted in pain and then rolled over, wincing.

"Jesus, Jo," Dawson muttered, closing his eyes against the sharp, intense tingling in his lower back.

Meanwhile, Joey sat sprawled, not too far from him, astonished. "I'm…uh…I'm sorry," she apologized, automatic, but her thoughts were conflicted. Though she felt bad for unintentionally injuring Dawson, she did not regret pushing him away. She was going to tell him, those flashes of memory reinforcing her resolve, her previously shackled words on the verge of release. She had not expected him to try to kiss her. This complicated things. "Um…are you okay?"

Dawson rolled up to sitting, grimacing as he reached back to rub his hurt area behind. "I'll survive." He tossed her an injured glance. "Why'd you push me so hard?"

"I…you startled me," Joey replied. "Why'd you try to kiss me?"

"I got caught up in the moment," he explained, recalling his own flash of memory. _Look at that girl, Dawson. Just take a good look. She's a freaking goddess, man!_ that boy who noticed everything had said last winter, as dancing pairs swirled all around them at the Starlight Dance Studio. "You just looked so beautiful, sitting there, the sunlight on your face, and your eyes so far away. It seemed like a great idea, at the time." Noting her less-than-transported expression, he chuckled ruefully. "Obviously, not such a great idea, after all."

"Not so much, no," Joey answered quickly.

"Why not, Jo?" Dawson asked, caught by her resolute tone.

She looked right at him then, into his cornflower blue eyes, read the puzzlement there, and for once, did not flinch from it. "Because we're best _friends_, Dawson. We've worked so hard to get back to this. I really don't want to ruin it."

Dawson gazed back at her, his bemusement lingering, but the truth of her words forced a grudging acknowledgement. Though he knew their bond was inviolate, the dynamics between them had shifted and changed throughout the year. And it had been a long journey back to this more comfortable connection between them. It had been wrong of him to rush the process now evolving.

So Dawson sat forward now, resting his elbows on his bent knees, contrite. "I'm sorry, Joey. You're my best friend, too. And that's the most important thing in the world to me. It was a crazy impulse, okay? Can you forgive me?"

Joey shifted so that she was sitting with her legs crossed in front her, hands resting in her lap. Looking at Dawson's face now, into those earnest eyes, she remembered their first meeting in the Leery front yard when he was a shy five-year-old and she, a prickly little girl of the same age. At that point in their childhood, the future was long and bright, blissful ignorance sheltered her from disillusionment, and tragedy was still unknown and unthinkable.

"Of course I can, Dawson," Joey said, accepting his apology. "Our friendship means everything to me, too. You know that. I just don't want us to lose each other. That's all. I…we…need more time to figure all of this out, don't you think?"

_All things worth having in a lifetime require patience and work to attain._ It was a lesson ingrained in Dawson from birth, repeated to him frequently throughout the years by his father. So he had learned to take things as they would come, falling back to let circumstances precede him so he could analyze and figure out his intentions, to provide stronger foundations for action, carefully storyboarding his progress forward.

But different words had inserted themselves just now. _You're gonna take it as it comes. Oh great, well perhaps you should start figuring out right now because the guy that comes along is not gonna be your best friend and he's not gonna ask for your permission. The guy that comes along is gonna take one look at that woman and then just cut right in on ya._ Pacey's words had riled him then. But his words from the night before, _What if she falls in love with someone else?_ had urged him ahead just now. Yet the timing was all wrong. He could see it in her face, wary and shuttered. He needed to fix this.

"Like I said yesterday, growing up does not have to equal growing apart," Dawson continued, bringing a reassuring tone to the conversation, his eyes intent on hers. "I have faith in us, Joey. It's the one thing I will always be sure of – you and me. Best friends forever."

Joey stared at this boy who had always created illusions she could get herself lost into, optimistic panoramas of the way life should be – full of promise and comfort, even love. Whenever she looked at Dawson, she saw herself as she had wanted to be – an idealist looking out on a world full of dreams that could actually come true. She wanted that world too, but hers was so much darker, full of unrelieved misfortune and heartbreak. The Leerys had opened up their doors to her, ushering her into a different place, an alternate life, and when she did not know how to create her own world of light for herself, Dawson became that whole world for her.

"Best friends forever," she echoed back to him, sending him a wistful smile.

And in that moment, they were children again, up in the loft above, etching that eternal decree onto the timber ledge at its opening, sprawling outward beneath their feet. The words hovered there, scrawled in that wood, still. Another memory resurfaced in Joey's mind. A breezy spring day during which their mothers spent an afternoon laughing over shared reminiscences from high school, lying on their backs on a plaid blanket just below them, giggling like schoolgirls. Best friends themselves since almost birth, they were daughters of mothers who had also been best friends before that. She and Dawson were the third generation of this unbroken chain of best-friendships. But she was a girl, and he was a boy. And there was a third person in this version of that long lineage of intertwined destinies.

"Do you need me to talk to Pacey, Jo?" Dawson asked, interrupting her pensive meditations.

"What?" she asked, blinking back to attention. "Talk to Pacey? Why?"

"About what happened out there on the porch. He must have said something pretty awful to get you so upset."

"Um…no," Joey said, throwing out a little laugh, hoping it sounded dismissive. "You don't need to do that, Dawson. It's fine."

"I know he can get to you pretty bad sometimes," Dawson continued, his tone sympathetic. Then, he chuckled. "And here I thought you two were getting along so much better these days."

"We were. Are," Joey amended. "But there are definitely times that I can barely stand to be in the same room with him," she added, dropping her eyes down to her lap. She let her long dark hair fall forward to hide the slight blush she knew was creeping into her cheeks, as an entire slew of expanded reasons for her more recent discomfiture around Pacey flitted through her mind.

"Despite your assertions to the contrary, Joey, some things never change," Dawson laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "Though I have to admit that you've come a long way from being that girl who so adamantly refused to let her lips find Pacey's in Sea Creature from the Deep. You definitely had kissing lips earlier, and though I know I've apologized, and I'll drop the subject after this, you _did_ look like you wanted to be kissed. Perhaps it was a trick of the light?" he asked, gently teasing, wanting to rewind to that awkward moment and play it forward, with better consequences.

"Perhaps," she concurred, smiling at Dawson, keeping the tone between them, light and jovial.

He was right. She _had_ wanted to be kissed. But not by him. With Dawson sitting before her, attempting to get them back on a better track and Pacey, somewhere outside, probably stewing over their own off-track encounter, that knowledge offered her neither relief nor comfort, leaving only newfound anxiety. They heard the sound of a truck pulling up into the driveway outside. Dawson got to his feet and then held out his hand to help Joey up to hers. "Must be Aunt Gwen getting back. So are you coming with us to the arts and craft fair?"

"Maybe for a little bit," she said, taking his hand and letting him tug her to standing. "Might be good for me to get away for awhile." Dawson held her hand for a second longer than was comfortable, given the circumstances just past, so she squeezed it, firm, and then quickly slid her fingers out of his grasp.

Dawson released them without resistance, again bemused. He recalled the night before, when Joey stepped so swiftly from his brief embrace. Unbidden, the vague uneasiness from his own porch encounter with Pacey returned. A. J. had been the topic of discussion, but in spite of himself, he wondered again if Pacey actually had been alluding to something else. Traces of a past fury, ignited while standing eye to eye with Pacey in that dance studio, flickered now, briefly. The last time he had jumped to that conclusion, it had been such a huge mistake.

Just as he and Joey were only at the beginning of this renewed connection between them, so were he and Pacey poised to deepen their own friendship beyond childhood pacts. He needed to stay focused on the visions that were real, and not cast any further aspersions on these two. So he ruthlessly squelched those disconcerting thoughts, resolving again to make no more mistakes, moving forward. _This_ was real three best friends, finally growing up, together. The rest would fall into place, in time.

When they went outside to meet the others, Andie and Will were just returning from an apparent jaunt in the woods, laughing and sparring as if they had been doing it for ages. Aunt Gwen had already brought her paintings into town earlier that morning, so she stuck her head out the driver's window and cheerfully exhorted everyone to "hurry up, let's go!" They were already bundled into Dawson's Ford Explorer – Aunt Gwen and Dawson in the front; she, Andie, and Will in the back – when Joey realized they were leaving Pacey behind.

"He wants to stay here and finish up the morning chores," Dawson told them as he slid into his seat, buckling himself in, having just come from the kitchen, where he had gone to fetch their absent friend. "But then again, he wasn't that interested in coming anyway."

"All right then. Off we go!" Aunt Gwen declared, shifting the Explorer into drive and pulling away from the cottage.

Joey had wanted to stay. But she did not want to garner any strange comments or raise unnecessary suspicions by asking to be left behind also. She felt Will's glance on her face, so she turned slightly to give him a little smile, accompanying it with a shrug. He sent her a sympathetic half-smile before turning to answer yet another query about Alan J. Pakula's movie, **_All the President's Men_** from Andie on his other side. Dawson fiddled with the car radio, settling on a soft rock station that primarily played love songs by early 1980s stadium rock bands, before turning to add his opinions to the film discussion beginning to take shape behind him. Aunt Gwen sang along to "Beth" by KISS, now playing on the radio. _"Beth, I hear you calling, but I can't come home right now…"_ She had a low, melodious voice that added, more than detracted, to the song.

Joey stayed silent, staring out the window, watching all the trees rush by, as the Explorer zoomed past. She was thinking again about first encounters. Not too long after the day she met Dawson on the Leerys front yard, she met Pacey one morning as he "guarded" the restricted side door of the enormous tent covering the famous Capeside rose gardens. The tent housed a special exhibit of exotic butterflies, on loan from the Boston Museum of Natural History. A smartass even at five years old, he had teased her mercilessly from their first introduction, while a fifteen-year-old Doug scowled his disapproval and her mother laughed, chucking him playfully on his chin as she scolded him with a smile. Pacey had dared her to sneak into that tent with him, when Doug went off to guide her mother to the restrooms, ignoring that older boy's admonitions to "stay right here and do not move a muscle!"

They had gone inside, careful and quiet, and she remembered how magical it looked, those butterflies fluttering everywhere, a vibrant, living fantasyland of colors flashing all around, alive and thriving. Awed by the sight, they stood there, surrounded by a bustling beauty, so overcome, they did not realize they had reached for each other's hands, simultaneously. For a moment, their small hands interlocked into a perfect, stunned accord. That accord did not last, of course, for as soon as Pacey realized that she knew Dawson too, that she was in fact coming along to the Leery house later that afternoon, enmity locked into place instead, continuing unabated, until now.

Two Capeside boys had crossed her path at nearly the same time. One boy created a horror movie about a sea creature, yet continually insisted that beneath the surface, it was all about true love. The other one, the sea creature himself, burst forth from beneath that surface, grabbing her to pull them both down into the swirling waters of a great unknown, forcefully inserting his presence, regardless of timing or storyline. These three, their paths criss-crossing each other, remained inextricably entwined. Joey had no idea how to disentangle them, and did not know if she should even try.

XXXXX

The sun setting over the town's annual arts and crafts fair signaled the end of yet another fine celebration of its creativity and entrepreneurship. Joey was restless. She had been, all afternoon. Andie and Will had gone about, together, gleefully soaking up the quaint local flavor, stopping at every booth, playing impromptu games with many of the children, scattered all about.

She and Dawson had browsed at their usual booths, picking up trinkets, on request, for their friends and family back in Capeside – some crystal jewelry, homemade apple butter, locally-harvested honey, beeswax candles. Every spring, this was their ritual, and this one would be the last. Dawson reveled in the experience, savoring these "final rites of our childhood," as he had declared, upon their arrival. The notion should have saddened her, she knew, but she was not sad. She was anxious. She wanted the afternoon to end so that she could go back to the cottage, to the unfinished business that awaited her there, probably bored out of his mind.

"Joey, do you mind going over to help Aunt Gwen pack up while I go find Andie and Will?" Dawson asked her, already starting to stroll away toward the thick of a slowly dispersing crowd. "By the way, we're getting dinner here in town before we go back."

"Sure, Dawson," she replied automatically, though she frowned immediately after her assent. Dinner in town would keep them here yet another two hours or so. Her restlessness grew exponentially.

"Could you grab those over there?" Aunt Gwen asked, pointing to a few smaller canvases propped up on a folding chair. "Those are the last of the paintings."

Joey picked up the canvases, binding them securely, and then followed Aunt Gwen to the Explorer, parked just several yards away. Aunt Gwen placed them carefully into the back of the truck with the rest of her remaining unsold paintings.

"I guess I'll have to bring the rest of these with me when I move. Are there any you would like to keep, Joey? I already gave Dawson the one of you two, last night. By the way, now that we're alone, I didn't get a chance earlier to tell you-"

"-Did you give Dawson that painting of us, right after I left the room last night?" Joey asked, interrupting, caught on the statement just uttered, recalling Dawson's profile in that studio room, staring rapt at that painting in his hands.

"Yes, I did," Aunt Gwen replied.

"I wish you hadn't done that."

Aunt Gwen stopped and looked at her, contemplative. "Why?"

"Dawson and I worked really hard to get our friendship back, Aunt Gwen. That kind of thing could only hurt him."

Watchful now, Aunt Gwen asked, "What kind of thing is that, Joey?"

"False hope! Wrong-headed illusion! Anything like that will get him hurt in the long run," Joey threw out, flustered now, wondering if perhaps this was the impetus that propelled Dawson's attempt to kiss her earlier.

"Are you going to hurt him, Joey?"

"No! Of course not." Joey exclaimed. Then, more quietly, "I don't want to."

"Is this about Pacey?"

Aunt Gwen's question brought back to her mind, last night's interruption of that first kiss with Pacey in the yard. _At least now I understand why you and Dawson aren't together._ Caught by surprise, her own feelings still uncertain, she had felt vulnerable then, ashamed, standing before Aunt Gwen's assessing gaze, fielding her probing questions, alone. _What if that had been Dawson that had seen you and not me? I mean, do you think he'd ever be able to erase that from his mind?_ But this question, now, generated anger instead.

"You don't _know_ Pacey, Aunt Gwen!" Joey spat out, defensive, her tone strident. "I mean, he can be totally irritating and exasperating and sometimes, believe me, he's a real ass." Her restlessness was spilling out now in these words, the anxiety pushing them outward. "But he's also kind and sweet and funny, when he wants to be. And he's loyal and supportive and smart." She faltered a bit, taking a short breath before continuing. "He can fix up broken things. And make you feel better, when things are messed up all around you." With a small laugh, her voice drifted down to softness. "He'll drive three hours in the middle of the night to pick you up at an empty train station. Just because you asked him to." Her next few words seemed wrenched from her. "Simply because you need him to."

Aunt Gwen just stared. Joey's gaze was identical to the one coming from that boy seated next to her, the night before. Once more, Aunt Gwen thought _this is real_. She did not know which was better – finding that realness later in life, at least for a short time, after being oblivious for so long. Or finding it sooner, so very early, thus more vulnerable to all of the obstructions down that much longer road ahead.

Her own memories came fast upon the heels of this resurrected musing. Memories can be faulty, she surmised. Sometimes you fasten the wrong meanings onto your recollections. She had closed her eyes to see her future once, and she had painted it, just so, but a future cannot really become clear until it has wound its way through present realities. Looking into Joey's eyes now, she sensed a new understanding unraveling within her. Pacey and Richard were not dreamers; they were doers. There was a difference. And that difference meant everything. She smiled, wistful and a little sad.

In her own life, she had always been the little sister left behind. Born almost a full generation after her only other sibling, her older sister, Gail, she was the surprise child, and at ten years younger, she was the one who always came _after_. _After_ the Homecoming Queen. _After_ the football star's bride. _After_ the creation of a perfect, golden child. _After_ the fame of local TV news celebrity. So when she married at eighteen, wanting something in her life that was finally _before_ – _before_ college, _before_ a life of being constant runner-up, _before_ being left alone – she set out to live a life of her own _before_ she even allowed herself to dream about it. And then she met Richard, the artist, the man who painted dreams. And she cast off _before_, stopped worrying about _after_, and grabbed onto _now_. And it had been the scariest, yet most sane, decision she had ever made.

"Come here, Joey," Aunt Gwen said, reaching out to her with one of her hands. Joey took it and came to stand before her. "I was out of line yesterday and I want to apologize. I forget sometimes that you and Dawson are no longer kids. When I was a teenager, I used to hate it when adults meddled in my business. And now, here I am, doing that very same thing." She sighed. "I guess I was re-living a dream." And then, more quietly, "I really miss Richard, you know. It's been a year, but it only seems like yesterday to me, that he was still here."

"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," Joey said, feeling contrite and a little guilty.

"I deserved it," Aunt Gwen said, with a tiny smile, reassuring her.

"You miss him a lot, don't you?"

"Every day. I think I miss Richard so much because it took me so long to let myself be open to finding him. But if I had never met him, or been with him, even for the short time we had…I can't even bear to think about that." Aunt Gwen smiled, her eyes shimmering with a true and genuine tenderness, deep and endless. "It was something real."

Joey squeezed Aunt Gwen's hand, comforting. Aunt Gwen sighed again and a tear fell, surprising them both. More tears followed. She sagged against the truck, suddenly crying. Joey stepped forward to put her arms around her. Out here, beneath a setting sun that was closing up a chapter in so many lives – not just Dawson's, but Aunt Gwen's too – Joey swallowed her own threatening tears, moved by that glimpse of something real that Aunt Gwen had just shared with her. She had yet to know how her own chapter was playing out, even now, but as she whispered consoling words to the older woman she held young yet, but still a grieving widow she closed her eyes and thought to herself, _I need to get back to that cottage _**_now_**.


	8. Stolen Moments: Chapter Eight

No televisions. Anywhere. Sitting at the dining room table, Pacey flung his upper body, prostrate, across the expanse of the shiny clean tabletop and let out a sad, frustrated whimper. He had looked everywhere, searched every room, checked every nook and cranny – shelves, closets, cupboards, trunks, outside, inside. Apparently, Aunt Gwen did not believe in television. When the gang first left, several hours before, he had been thankful to get out and about by himself, taking a walk around the grounds, weaving aimlessly through the trees, sometimes stopping to sit on a stump or two just to ponder over the events of that morning, the night before -- hell, an entire week prior to this one, ever since that instant when he first kissed Joey by the side of the road leading back into Capeside. It was the same road that would take them back there, tomorrow morning.

Now, it was just past twilight, the sun almost completely absorbed by the horizon, sandwiched between a solid darkness, swallowing, and another darkness, infused by the sparking of emerging starlight. Calling someone was out of the question – most of his friends were at the arts and crafts fair. Jack was off with his father, bonding. Jen was holed up somewhere with Henry, no doubt. Besides, those would be long distance phone calls. Despite the boorishness of his own father, and the often shoddy behavior of the rest of the Witter clan, he himself had developed manners from God-knows-where, so he would not do that. Glancing around, he considered reading a book, but when he ran his eyes across those books with extra-thick spines lined up on the shelves, all they promised were very tiny print and too many pages. _Enforced solitude does crazy things to a guy's state of mind_, Pacey thought to himself, sardonic.

If he had known there was absolutely no TV within at least a mile radius of this cottage, he might have reconsidered his decision to tell Dawson to go ahead, leaving him behind. A part of him was irritated that Joey had gone without him, but then again, if she had stayed, what excuse could she have come up with to do so? Besides, the time away from each other this afternoon was probably good for both of them. Except that now, he was excruciatingly bored. And restless. And a little bit wary too. Time spent apart after an encounter such as their last one could give rise to a whole slew of possible consequences later on, especially when one Josephine Potter was allowed to indulge in several hours to think about their predicament and thus, analyze it to death. 

Lifting a weary eye towards the vintage jukebox in the corner, he decided that some music would be nice. Pushing himself back up off the table and rising out of the chair, he walked, purposeful, over to that rather grand-looking music machine. Peering at it more closely, he frowned slightly. _Good God! It did not really require quarters, did it?_ Using the knobs to scroll through the song menus, he flipped through mostly 1960s soul classics before hitting some menus with titles that were more classic rock. _Way to go, Aunt Gwen!_ Pacey thought, scanning through the songs until he found one of his favorites, _Desperado_ by the Eagles. Not in the mood to rock out, he just wanted some nice mellow accompaniment to relieve his woods-induced sense of isolation. He punched in a letter and a number and waited. The jukebox shuddered, he heard it whirring and then, the familiar tune drifted into the air. No quarters necessary. He pressed another button stating "automatic" and then "random", setting the volume to medium-low.

Heading back into the kitchen, Pacey went into the pantry, prowling for items to rustle up for dinner. He had bread. He found peanut butter. And there were all these homemade jams. Perfect. The jar of hot cocoa caught his eye and he pulled that off the shelf, too. Bringing his makeshift bounty out to the kitchen counter, he made himself a sandwich and then retrieved some milk from the refrigerator to warm in a pot on the stove. The sandwich made, the milk warmed and cocoa stirred, he brought both to the table and proceeded to enjoy his improvised dinner as Aretha Franklin came onto the jukebox, singing a jazzy rendition of _You'll Lose a Good Thing_. Eating gave him something to do and the music curbed his previous restlessness.

As he chewed through bites of his sandwich, Pacey thought back upon his brief chat with Dawson earlier that afternoon. Having put away the dishes and pots, already washed and dried, he was finishing his wipe-down of the counters and was advancing upon the tabletop when the other boy entered the kitchen. 

"Aunt Gwen is here. You coming with us into town for the arts and craft fair?" Dawson asked, coming over to stand by the table, directly across from him, his hands resting upon the back of one of the chairs.

"Think I'll pass on this one, D," he replied, grabbing the can of Pledge from the counter and shaking it briskly. "I'll just finish up these morning chores here and then hang around. Have some alone time, you know?"

"Sure about that?"

"Yeah," Pacey said, flipping the can one somersault in the air and then swiftly catching it, aiming the nozzle at the tabletop.

"So, Pace," Dawson drawled, slow, watching as Pacey generously sprayed those cleaning chemicals all across the surface. "What happened with Joey earlier? She seemed kind of upset in the barn just now."

Fighting off an involuntary flicker of irritation at Dawson's hovering presence here, at these questions being thrown at him with no context for him to fall back upon, Pacey focused his eyes on the task at hand, vigorously wiping down the tabletop with a threadbare rag. "The same old story. You know us," he replied, not looking up, keeping his voice light. "What did _she_ tell you?"

"Nothing, really. She said it was fine," Dawson answered, casual. Then, "So did the teasing just get a little out of hand?"

"Yeah," Pacey concurred, his tone only slightly exasperated as he rubbed, forceful, along the corners of the table. "You know how we get sometimes. We'll get over it."

Dawson chuckled, sounding almost relieved. "I hope you two won't engage in any more earth-shaking battles while I'm off camping with my Dad the next few days. I'd like to think that _both_ of my best friends would still be intact upon my return from my father-son bonding sojourn. I would hate to come back to find one of you locked up in Capeside County Jail, under suspicion of murder."

"Well, if you do, it will probably be me," Pacey quipped, finding amusement in Dawson's joking statement. "Like I told you a few months ago, that girl is no picnic. Nope, that Potter girl, she ain't easy, _at all._

Dawson laughed, watching as Pacey took out his lingering annoyance on the tabletop, which was already showing signs of becoming the shiniest one ever. "So Pace…"

"Yeah?" Pacey asked, looking up at him finally, having grown tired of focusing so hard on keeping his gaze lowered. 

"I'm thinking, when I get back this weekend, what if we held a special boat christening for the _True Love_? I mean, you've worked so hard on it. Now that you're pretty much finished, well, we should really mark it as the special occasion it is, you know?"

"Are you serious?" Pacey asked, raising his brows, somewhat incredulous.

"Absolutely. I mean, we went back to our old fort last week to say goodbye to our childhood. This boat of yours symbolizes a beckoning future," Dawson continued. "An emerging adulthood, if you will."

"I wouldn't go that far. We're all just teenagers that like to think we know better, and often speak as if we do." Pacey bunched the rag in one hand and then leaned forward a bit onto both of his knuckles. "We really don't."

"But we're getting there, Pacey. I think your boat is the perfect symbol of possibility, a refurbished past made relevant to the here and now. She's poised to sail off into exciting new horizons, my friend."

"You are seriously waxing esoteric now, dude," Pacey said, twisting to toss the balled up rag across a short expanse of space into the sink. "But yeah, a boat christening would be cool," he continued, turning back towards Dawson. "I'll see what I can do."

"Nah – I'll do this one. You planned the whole fort thing last week. I'll take care of everything before I leave with my dad."

"When's that?"

"Really early Wednesday morning. We're getting things ready as soon as we all get back to Capeside tomorrow afternoon. Joey's coming over tomorrow night to help out. It's a Tuesday, so Bodie will be up from Boston to help out around the B & B, thus granting her a free evening away from her usual responsibilities."

"Oh yeah? That's nice of her," Pacey commented, his tone neutral.

"Yeah, well, she owes me one for making me sing a karaoke solo last night and then taking off as soon as I started."

Pacey nodded, distracted by the sudden recollection of the reason why she left Dawson stranded with the microphone in the first place. "Anyways…um…thanks, Dawson. When we get back, I'll see about getting the _True Love_ ready for her little coming out party on Saturday."

"Just focus on getting her seaworthy, Pace."

"I'm trying," Pacey said, dropping his eyes again to look down at his knuckles. "Believe me -- I'm trying real hard."

Dawson chuckled as he went to the door. Pausing once more on the threshold, he turned back to Pacey before stepping outside. "I'm ready now, you know."

"Ready for what?" Pacey asked, glancing up at him, framed there in the doorway.

"To jump back in there. To return to our regularly scheduled programming, as you so aptly put it. Thanks for keeping things going in the meantime, Pacey. It meant -- means -- a lot to me." And then, with a quick "see ya later," and a jaunty wave, he was gone.

Pacey remembered sinking into a nearby chair, feeling alternately resentful and then, running over Dawson's departing words in his head, like the worst sort of shit, ever. Now, he frowned, thinking about repercussions. Had Joey managed to tell Dawson about them, while they were out there, at the arts and craft fair? If so, he could certainly see himself kissing Dawson's well-intentioned boat christening goodbye. Would he also be kissing Joey goodbye as well? Would he even get a goodbye kiss, if that were the case? Shaking his head as if to rid himself of these negative thoughts, he took a long sip of his hot cocoa, letting its rich warmth soothe the unexpected constriction in his throat, arising, sudden, at the notion of saying goodbye to Joey so soon after this most recent beginning between them.

Outside, the sound of a car engine coming up the driveway noisily asserted itself, discordant but resolute, into the tuneful ending strains of _Against the Wind_ by Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band, now coursing throughout the cottage. Steeling himself against the rush of personalities that would soon tumble, topsy-turvy, in through the doorway, he took a deep breath and then let it out, wistfully wishing for an extension of the solitude that he had just recently been cursing. _Figures,_ he thought. Just when he was getting used to it, enjoying it even, the self-imposed isolation was coming to an abrupt end. He hoped this was not a harbinger of things to come. As soon as he heard the engine at its loudest, directly there on the other side of the door, including the unmistakable sound of a car door opening, then slamming shut, it faded away again, signaling an immediate leave-taking. Puzzled, Pacey raised his eyes to the door, simultaneous to its being pushed open before him. And then, Joey was standing there, alone, on the threshold. Their gazes converged, locking onto each other. A wordless moment passed between them before Joey cracked a hesitant, tiny smile.

"Hey, jailbait," she said, in greeting.


	9. Stolen Moments: Chapter Nine

Pacey settled back in his chair, eyeing her steadily. "You know, in a year, you won't be able spring that one on me, Potter. I'll be a one hundred percent legal adult in the eyes of the law."

"Emphasis on 'the eyes of the law'" Joey replied, stepping into the cottage and closing the door firmly behind her. "The term 'adult' will always be subjective when applied to you."

"Funny, that," Pacey observed, his tone mordant. "Where's the rest of the gang?" he asked, before shoving the last bite of sandwich into his mouth.

"In town, grabbing dinner. Aunt Gwen dropped me off." After their conversation at the arts and craft fair, Aunt Gwen agreed to let her come back to the cottage sooner, and though it took a little convincing – they would be two teenagers alone in an empty house, after all - in the end, the short drive allowed Aunt Gwen an opportunity to pull herself together, after that unforeseen fit of tears, and deep down, she was still a romantic at heart. However, Aunt Gwen_ did_ make sure to emphasize that they would all be returning _very _soon, sending Joey a stern, speaking look before she let her shut the car door. "I told her I wanted some time to talk to you before everyone else got back," she told Pacey, walking over to the table.

"So we're talking now?" he asked, his words muffled around the final remnants of his dinner.

"I'd like to," Joey said. "Can we?"

Swallowing, Pacey nodded and motioned toward the chair across the tabletop from him, just as Phil Collins started wailing _Something In the Air Tonight_ from the corner. As Joey sat, Dawson's aborted kiss flashed in her mind, and unconsciously, she started worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Yet another thing to tell a boy. But there were other things to get through first. Pacey noted her slight apprehension. She was as nervous as he was. Their last encounter had ended at an impasse, all of those truncated implications left hanging, unfinished, between them. They would have to proceed, cautious, for now.

"So, um…about earlier...," Joey began, hesitant.

"Yeah, what about that?" Pacey answered, prodding. Yet he infused a lighter tone into his voice, so his reply emerged as a gentle teasing. Pushing the mug of hot cocoa across the tabletop toward her, he gestured at it and she reached forward to grasp it in both hands, cradling its warmth between her palms. Encouraged by this unspoken offering, she forged onward.

"I didn't mean what I said. This is_ not_ nothing," she said firmly. "It's definitely _something_."

"You know what I like about you, Jo? You're always so distinctively_ clear-cut _in your pronouncements," he commented, before he could help himself.

"Are you gonna let me finish?" she tossed out at him, her tone, arch.

"Sorry," Pacey apologized, smirking a little. "Continue."

Joey picked up the mug, took a small sip of the hot chocolate, and then set it down again, pushing it back toward the middle of the table. Reaching over, Pacey grabbed the mug from her outstretched fingers, bringing it up to his lips for a nice long swig. This familiar bristliness between them was oddly calming, relieving some of the initial tension.

"This thing between us – it's got me all confused," Joey continued, casting her eyes down to the tabletop, at her hands folded onto each other. "And with Dawson and Andie here – well – that's even more confusing." Pacey extended his arm far to slide the mug directly beneath her line of vision. She chuckled, slightly exasperated, and then glanced up at him, saying, "I don't know what to do."

Leaning back again, Pacey shrugged. "I don't either, Jo. I'm just winging it here."

"I'm not good at winging it, Pace. You know that."

"So…do you want to stop?"

Joey looked at Pacey, his eyes, a deep, serious blue, offering her a choice. Though his gaze was steadfast, uncertainty flickered there and beneath that, just the tiniest hint of fear mixed in with a hesitant hope.

"No," she replied softly, her own gaze, unwavering. "Like I said before, everything's changed and I don't know what this is yet..." She paused, tentative again.

"But….?" Pacey nudged gently.

Aunt Gwen's tear-streaked face and that glimpse of something real flashed in her mind, allowing her to continue, in a more determined voice, "…But I really want to continue exploring it with you." Joey sent him a brief, shy smile before picking up the mug and taking a longer sip of the hot chocolate. Then, bending forward, she set it closer to him, so he would not have to reach so far for it this time.

Letting out the breath he did not realize he was holding, Pacey wrapped a large hand around the mug, rubbing his thumb over its handle, thoughtful. Then, he asked, "So _were_ you jealous before? Of Andie?" continuing the earlier conversation from the porch, asking yet another question that had gone unanswered.

Joey hesitated again. "Yes," she answered, once more nibbling at her lower lip.

"You shouldn't be," Pacey said quietly. "She's not the one, Jo. And as much as it pained me to say so, I actually told her that, months ago."

"You did?" Joey asked, surprised and a little bit awed.

"Yeah," Pacey replied, nodding, lowering his gaze briefly. "Wasn't pretty. But we managed to salvage the friendship, anyway." Looking up at Joey again, he continued, his voice earnest, "Whatever happens here, Jo, I'd like to think we could do the same. I would hate to lose you as my friend." Then, he chuckled, wry. "Especially since we beat the odds to become friends in the first place." He took another drink and then placed the mug back at the middle of the table. "New year and all."

"We were always friends, Pace," Joey said, offering up half of an eye roll.

"Yeah – with friends like us, who needs enemies, right?" he joked. "We're a Capeside special combo – love and hate all tied up into one big package."

Joey caught onto that casual reference to "love," turning it over briefly in her mind before storing away any possible implications too enormous to ponder right now. In the background, Bonnie Tyler began to croon _Total Eclipse of the Heart_. "You know what I mean, Pacey."

"Yeah…I know," he said, acquiescent, and then added, his voice turning matter-of-fact, "We're never gonna stop fighting, Jo. It's a permanent part of who we are, I guess. But at least now, we have more options for payback."

"Like?"

"Well," he said, nonchalant, "instead of shoving you into the dirt, I can kiss you instead."

"What makes you think I'd let you?" she countered, out of habit, raising her chin and flicking him a sardonic half-smile.

Running a lazy, warm glance over her, Pacey asked, "After all this, what makes you think I'd let you stop me?"

Joey's breath caught, the vibrant caress beneath his words raising shivers all through her. Had his voice always had that quality to it? Or was she just noticing it now, more often? Keeping his eyes steady on hers, Pacey slid his forearms across the table, leaning forward to brace himself upon them, stretching his upper body toward her. Joey bent forward onto her elbows, meeting him halfway, at a point where their faces were just barely inches apart, breaths mingling in the tiny distance between them.

"Would you even _want_ me to stop, now?" Pacey asked on a whisper. Then, he bent his head and gently kissed her, tenderly nibbling at her lips, further savoring her with little dips of his tongue. She tasted like rich, warm chocolate. "Mmmm," he murmured, "I've been wanting to do that all day." Feathering a kiss onto the tip of her nose, he pulled back a little to grin at her.

"You have, huh?" she whispered back, her lips stretching out into a smile so wide, it pulled at her face, altering its composition somewhat, especially up this close.

Pacey laughed softly. "Your face looks all goofy."

"Shut up," Joey replied, blushing.

"Want some more?" Pacey asked then, his voice turning soft and husky again.

"More?" Joey breathed back, caught up in his intent, heated gaze.

Pacey dropped his eyes briefly to the empty mug below them. "Hot chocolate," he said. "We've drunk it all. I can make some more, if you want."

"Uh…yeah…sure," Joey responded, drawing herself back into her chair as Pacey withdrew from their close proximity, grabbing the mug to quickly stand and go over to the stove. He flicked on the burner and then walked over to the refrigerator to get the milk. Joey watched him, unable to keep her eyes from traveling over him, yearning, as he moved. Had his shoulders always been that broad? His bearing, so straight and sure? He was lean and lanky, yet solid too. Definitely well-proportioned, Joey mused - a sturdy chest, long legs, and, as he turned to lean over the counter briefly to grab a wooden spoon for stirring, a really nice butt. She fixed her gaze onto his large hands as they poured and measured. Those fingers – long and masculine – were capable of so much strength and yet infinite tenderness too. Joey felt a slow heat start to suffuse her cheeks, and when Pacey abruptly turned to face her again, her blush grew more profuse. He grinned at her, a mocking devil.

"You checking me out, Jo?"

Joey rolled her eyes at him, full-out this time. "Whatever." But the blush remained, staining deeper.

Pacey laughed. "Next topic?" he threw out, giving her an opening, so that she could back away from her embarrassment. He started whistling along, jaunty, to the emerging strains of _Angel in the Centerfold_ by the J. Geils Band.

Taking the out he offered, though not completely veering away from any important topics at hand, Joey continued their conversation. "Dawson told me about Saturday and the boat christening. Actually, he told all of us, in the car earlier. Everyone's really excited about it. It's really sweet of him, don't you think?"

"Yeah. Real sweet. I felt like shit when he suggested it."

"Why?"

"Because of what we're doing," Pacey answered, his voice somber. Then, quietly, "You haven't told Dawson yet, have you?"

"No."

"But you still want to. Soon. "

"Yes."

Nodding, Pacey stirred the milk on the stove, keeping his eyes glued to the pot. After a brief pause, he asked, "What about our pact?"

Joey sighed. "Pacey, I _need_ to do this. I really think it's my responsibility." Watching his profile carefully, she added, "Can you understand that?"

He was silent for a moment before answering her. "I don't particularly like it, but understanding? That's definitely possible." Then, quietly, he added, "I know how much he means to you."

"Meant," Joey corrected him, automatic.

Glancing back up at her, Pacey smiled a little and then asked, "So earlier, on the porch…that was just a little misinterpretation on my part then?"

"Absolutely," Joey replied, her firm look saying more to him than the word just uttered.

Satisfied, Pacey flicked off the knob on the stove and grabbed the pot handle. "Well, this conversation is truly enlightening, Josephine," he said briskly as he poured warm milk into the mug. "You know, if you stopped running away, we could maybe actually finish a conversation we've started and not have so many misinterpretations."

"I'm not running right now."

"Well, there's no one else around here to run to."

Joey chewed on her bottom lip, thinking. Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions started singing _People Get Ready,_ melodious, into the air.

"I didn't run _to _anyone earlier. I just...ran."

"Yup. That you did. That, you most certainly did." Pacey grew quiet again as he spooned a heap of hot cocoa powder into the mug. "You really pissed me off earlier, you know."

"I know," Joey answered softly. "I'm sorry. Sometimes, I just don't know what else to do. It's habit."

"You don't have to run away from me, Joey," Pacey said, looking up at her. "All you need to do is just talk to me.

That look offered up yet another choice, an added option to that which was growing and expanding between them. He wanted her to trust him. "You'd like me to learn to trust you," she said, her thoughts emerging aloud.

"Yeesss," he replied, slowly, turning fully now, to face her again. "But more than that, I want you to learn to trust _yourself_."

What did that _mean_? For the longest time, Joey thought Dawson, her soulmate, was the love of her life. That's what a soulmate _should_ be, right? When she tried someone new, someone different, she found herself, during that long ride back from Boston to Capeside, distraught over a glimpse of something real, somewhere else, for someone other than her. _Keep on looking, you'll find it, _Pacey had said to her. Then he kissed her at the side of the road, and she was forced to stop ignoring those impossible inklings she had been carrying around, inside of her. Were the inklings something real? Joey looked over at Pacey now, leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms folded across his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles. Her expression was wistful.

"What?" he questioned, wary.

"Nothing," she replied, with a tiny shake of her head and a half-smile.

Right now, Joey was the closest to finally admitting that he was right about anything he had ever told her in their lives. But these evolving thoughts, she would keep to herself, for now. Despite her undeniable attraction to him, she still did not want to hand him the satisfaction of being right, unwilling to offer up an easy silver platter of once-in-a-lifetime Potter acquiescence to that know-it-all Witter charm. Especially as she was still trying to figure out if he actually _was_ right, absolutely and without question.

Pacey shook his head, chuckling. "Anyway, Joey, whenever you want to tell Dawson is fine by me. I'll just trust that you'll know when that exact right moment will be and back off of you in the meantime."

"Promise?" she teased, tilting her head, inquiring.

"Okay – I know I can be an ass," Pacey admitted, tossing her a quick smile. Uncrossing both his arms and his ankles, he turned back to the hot cocoa awaiting preparation on the kitchen counter. "Point taken."

Joey watched, amused, as he stirred the hot cocoa, efficiently finishing it off with a flourishing spoon tap on the mug's rim. Pacey took a tasting sip before turning again, extending the mug out to her. Standing, she went over to him, to take it from his hand and bring it to her lips, sipping carefully. Meanwhile, Pacey pulled himself up to sitting onto the kitchen counter.

"To answer your earlier question out there on the porch…," she continued, conversational, wrapping her hand around the mug, holding it aloft. "…nothing happened last night. Dawson took me to this clearing in the woods where he had rigged up a tree with blue X-mas tree lights - the tiny ones that blink- and it was really pretty."

"Okay – so what was _that_ all about? I saw them outside while I was walking around earlier," Pacey said, knocking his knuckles on the counter beside him, in tune to the beginning of the Rolling Stones' _You Can't Always Get What You Want_. "Is this one of those obscure Leery movie references that's gonna completely sail right by my head""

"He was trying to recreate something for me, Pace," Joey explained.

"Christmas in the springtime"

"No, moron. The Northern Lights."

"O-kayy..." Pacey said, throwing her a look as he started to sing-along with Mick Jagger. "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well you just might find, you get what you need…"

"Well, anyway, we just talked for a little bit about blue stars and True North, and all of that. Nothing you'd be interested in really."

"You don't think I'd be interested in the stars, Joey?" Pacey asked, interrupting his somewhat off-key warbling to address her statement. "Let me tell ya, I know more than a thing or two about them."

"Do you" she asked, dryly. "Kinda like how you knew a thing or two – or three – about snails?"

"Yeah okay, whatever, _Josephine_. If you want, we can go outside later and I can enlighten you," Pacey said, stretching his hand out to take the now much lighter mug from Joey, who had been sipping frequently while they talked. He finished off the rest of the hot cocoa in one large gulp.

Joey watched him, pensive. "Pace - nothing happened last night. But earlier, in the barn?"

Pacey stilled for an instant and then asked, "What is it, Jo?" putting the empty mug down far behind him.

"Dawson tried to kiss me."

The instant spurt of jealousy was automatic, but Pacey immediately zeroed in on the word _tried_. He hadtried to kiss her once, last year, and he remembered that failed attempt now, especially his words to her after she had firmly pushed him away._By some slim chance if you would have kissed me back, you would have probably been thinking about someone else, right? _Having been rebuffed by this girl before, he knew innately that_ tried_ connoted failure at success. _Tried_ meant _almost_. _Almost_ meant not complete. Broken off before a full realization. Terminated before an intended end. _Almost_ meant it did not happen. But it _almost _did.

When Pacey reached for her this time, Joey came to him right away, stepping between his knees and coming close to rest within the circle his arms made all around her, tucking her face into his neck. He bent his lips to her ear, barely brushing it, his warm breath, calming. She sighed and slipped her own arms around his back, pulling herself further into him. The long moments after that disclosure had been some of the longest she had ever stood through, in her entire life up to now. Joey had seen the intensity of those thoughts chasing each other in Pacey's eyes, watching fearful as he mulled over what she said, expecting this new world they had just discovered together to come crashing down now, all around them. But the earth stayed rotating on its axis because he was holding her instead, soothing that soothing that momentary terror away.

Despite the persistent insecurity roiling deep within him, Pacey managed a teasing tone, observing into her ear"So Dawson's lips found yours, huh"

"Our lips barely touched, actually" she murmured back, bringing her arms back in between them so she could slip her hands up his shoulders to rest her fingers at the back of his neck, at the point where soft, cropped hair merged with warm, supple skin.

"So what were you thinking, Jo" Pacey asked her then, closing his eyes against the pleasant sensation of those gentle fingers idly caressing him.

"Honest truth"

"Yeah."

Joey drew back to gaze straight into Pacey's eyes, now open again, their blueness in that moment, crystalline and perfect. "All I could think of was you."

Pacey looked at her, surprised and pleased. Joey grinned, the swirling browns, grays, and greens in her eyes, converging to glimmer back at him, warm and reassuring. He brought his left hand up to cup her chin gently, brushing his thumb across her plump lower lip, thoughtful. Then, he leaned down, pressing his own lips there, firm and soft, replacing any brief trace of a prior imprint, before sliding his tongue fully into her mouth to meet hers in a kiss more mutually desired, reciprocated, and deep. Joey skimmed her hands up onto his head, fingers now tangling into his hair, murmuring her delight. Pacey's hand at her chin shifted up to the back of her head, clutching a gentle fistful of her hair as his arm slid around her waist, pulling her into him even closer. His warm body against hers was solid solace, his arms around her, a comforting yet also scintillating embrace, and here, now, clarity offered up the revelation that _this_ boy was something safe to grab onto. And _these_ lips were the ones Joey had wanted to find hers, all along.


	10. Stolen Moments: Chapter Ten

"Can I interject here that you've just rattled off to me a slew of stories coming from classical mythology? Why can't you evince such amazing recall in English class?" Joey asked Pacey, as she reclined against him, her arms hugging his knees into her sides, nestled in his embrace.

"Sometimes I do. But the stars help guide me out there, in the ocean. And the stories help me remember the stars. " His back propped up against a thick bale of hay, Pacey had pulled Joey down to set her between his bent outstretched legs and then slipped his own arms beneath hers to rest his hands on her flat stomach, nuzzling his chin into the crook of her neck.

"This recall could help you in history too," Joey pointed out.

"That's history up there. A whole mess of history. Some of it pretty. Most of it ugly. But there it is. You can look up and just see a whole bunch of stars. Or you can see beyond that to the stories they tell. I see the stories."

"And you remember them because…?"

"Because any sailor worth his salt knows the stories of the stars," Pacey replied. "They mean something to me. Sometimes, out there with nothing else to guide you, they mean _everything_."

The others would be back soon. That looming expectation hovered over them as they sat together, in the barn loft, looking up at the stars while Pacey regaled Joey with all of the tales inherent in every constellation, impressing her with that amazing recall. Settled in a spot that was a safe angle from the opening, they could see the sky yet still be far enough back to not be immediately visible to anyone approaching from outside, below. And, more importantly, from this vantage point, they could see approaching headlights coming around a bend in the road at least a mile out, giving them ample time to prepare for the onslaught of those added personalities.

"Your dad told you all of those stories?"

"Well, okay, not all. Some of it came from Will. As you know, he still came out fishing with us once in awhile, even after he left Capeside. That boy's a serious Greek mythology nut. So all those little details, I learned from him."

"Think if he stayed, you'd actually be an A student instead of hanging out a few letters below that?"

"Keep 'em coming, Josephine. They're just more hits begging for payback."

After a tiny laugh, Joey snuggled further back into his embrace. Turning his face, Pacey dropped a soft kiss beneath her ear and then burrowed there, sighing. She brought one lazy arm up to encircle his head, just behind her, and lay her cheek against his.

"This is nice," she said, her lips curving up into a small smile.

"Mmhmmm…" Pacey agreed, bending his head to kiss her jaw. His hands slipped under her shirt, pausing to savor the feel of her soft warm tummy beneath his palms. Then, casual, they drifted up further until they rested just beneath her bra, his thumbs leisurely caressing the underside of her cotton-clad breasts, his touch light, soothing and sensual. Joey closed her eyes, awaiting further exploration. But his hands stayed moored, just there, only his thumbs moving, unhurried, upon her.

When the warm flutters inside of her grew too insistent to ignore, she cried out, slight frustration in her tone, "Pacey! Grab my boobs, already!"

Pacey's thumbs immediately stilled and Joey felt the mirth rumbling through his body surrounding her before it erupted out of his mouth as helpless laughter. He laughed so long and hard that Joey could not help but join him, until they were both gasping for breath from that shared hilarity.

"Way to ruin the mood, Potter," he said, hugging her to him, affectionate, kissing the top of her head. She giggled, placing her hands on top of his around her waist.

"And what mood was that? As I recall, you were stubbornly stuck between first and second base. I was just nudging you onward."

"Were you now?" Pacey said, his voice wry. "And when did you become such an expert on the bases? Last I checked, you weren't exactly the most knowledgeable of baseball fans. I mean that on both levels – metaphorical and actual - by the way."

Joey blushed but stubbornly stuck out her chin, "I _know_ about the bases, Pacey."

"Which version?"

"What?"

"I mean, the old version or the new one?"

"How many versions _are_ there? I thought there was only one."

"Nope. Those old guidelines have been updated for modern times. Remind me to go over them with you someday."

"Why can't you go over them with me right now?"

"Because we have a very limited time for any lessons and you, obviously, are still under the impression that the old guidelines apply. So I'm more than happy to oblige."

Joey opened her mouth to protest, but he had slipped his hands beneath her shirt again as he spoke and was now cupping both of her breasts. He squeezed gently, once, and then moved his hands down, his fingers smoothing along the bottom edges of her bra, before pushing the cloth upward and off the full mounds. Gliding his warm palms over her hard nipples, he cupped her again, skin on skin, no material between. And then he set to caressing those rosy nubs with fingers simultaneously tender and torturous. Gasping, Joey's hands came up over her shirt, to clutch at his hands, beneath it. Closing her eyes, she pushed her head back against his shoulder, even as she arched her chest higher into his hands.

Pacey groaned and removed one hand, swiftly bringing it up to cup her jaw, tilting her head back further to bring her mouth up to his. Joey whimpered softly at the loss of that hand but then, his tongue was filling her mouth and she moaned, overcome with the concurrent sensations of his lips, tongue, hands, and fingers working their magic at different points of her body. She brought one of her own hands up above her to grab the back of his head, keeping his mouth locked to hers; the other one slid beneath her shirt to clasp his wrist as his fingers continued to roll and pull at her nipple, below.

With Joey simultaneously pressed back against him like this and sprawled between his bent legs, completely open to his erotic ministrations, Pacey ached to touch her even more intimately. Yet he knew, instinctively, that some things just should not be rushed. Reluctantly breaking that intense, plunging kiss, Pacey took in a great gulp of air and concentrated on steadying his erratic breathing. Though he was all for charging forward, especially in matters of anything relating to sex, a past-time that he enjoyed greatly, with Joey, he sensed he should progress with much caution and certainly, more forethought. Despite her more than willing response right now, he innately knew that _this_ should develop much more slowly than anything else. It was going to be hard – hell, _he_ was hard! – but she was worth it. He had screwed up a lot of things in his life so far, but what was happening now, between them, could be infinitely more precious, and it was the last thing he wanted to ruin. Not now. Not ever.

So Pacey took her hand from his head, and shifted his own hands, tugging down her bra to cover her breasts again, pulling her shirt to cover her once more. When she started to object the abrupt ending of this rather pleasurable interlude, he hugged her tightly and kissed her temple, murmuring, "Not now, Jo. We really should take this much more slowly. And they'll probably be back soon."

Joey absorbed his words, quiet, and then sighed, bringing her arms up to wrap around his that were encircling her. A lingering restlessness made her edgy, and she squirmed a bit in his arms while resettling herself. Pacey swallowed hard and tried to fasten his thoughts onto other things, mundane things,_ anything_ other than this tempting girl wriggling between his legs.

"Jo, quit wiggling around," he growled, dropping his hands to the sides, balling them into fists resting on the floor.

Joey blushed deeply and immediately stilled. Then, timidly, she ventured, "Is this hard for you?"

"Lord, woman!" Pacey exhaled, throwing his head back against the bale of hay, closing his eyes, the exasperation impossible to hide now. "You have no idea!"

Joey did not know what to say to that. Restive tension stretched taut between them. It was starting to make her nervous. _Oh my God_, she thought, _I was complete putty in his hands just now!_ Her mind shifted back over their recent, blush-rendering activities. Did he stop because of her inexperience? In these matters, he was so much more skilled than she. Was there any way to measure up to any expectations he might have? The last time she offered herself up to a boy, she was spurned, and it broke her heart. Was this a different kind of spurning, now? And her heart…well, her heart was still wavering, not yet fixed, meanings floating, elusive. Then, Pacey was speaking again, interrupting her fretful musings.

"Joey, things are difficult enough just trying to be with each other, alone, to figure out everything. We shouldn't rush this part of it at all. Believe me."

"Do you think things will get easier, once we get back to Capeside tomorrow?" she asked, hesitant.

"Easier?" Pacey asked. "Don't know about that," he muttered, shifting back a bit, while pushing Joey slightly forward, putting a little space between them, but keeping her there between his knees, lightly resting his hands on her back. "But we'll definitely have more options."

"You and your options," she commented, dryly, crossing her legs to sit up, Indian-style.

"It's all about choice, you know," he said, practical now, almost brusque.

"Yes, I know," Joey concurred, her tone, suddenly quiet and enigmatic.

Pacey did not respond. They each had a right to their own evolving thoughts about what they were doing, how they were feeling, and who they were becoming to each other. It was still strange, this sudden shift from enemies to friends and now…well, to something definitely more intimate. His sexual experience, though widely varying between his prior two partners, was not at all extensive. Sex with Tamara, though certainly instructive and extremely enjoyable, had gotten her sent away. With Andie, though he had been gentle and careful, he believed they had rushed into sex too soon, causing unforeseen complications. And now, here was Joey, famously jittery and skittish about all matters sexual. Yet there she had just been, in his arms, pliant and wanting, exceedingly hot and crazy-desirable. But again, this was Joey, and if she was acting first now, without thinking, then he knew those contemplations would most definitely come back to haunt and hound them later on.

"So what should we do now?" Joey asked, peering back at him over her shoulder.

"Pick a star, you pick a story. So pick one," Pacey said now, grabbing onto their earlier storytelling to steer them to safer ground.

Joey looked up and picked out a particular star, exceedingly bright, alongside another, almost exactly like it, illuminating themselves distinct from the others scattering all about, surrounding them.

"Ah, the Twins! Good one, Jo," Pacey said, approvingly, before lapsing into a brief period of searching silence as he scanned his memory for the details of this particular tale.

Joey smiled to herself. She actually knew the story behind this one. Her mother told her, long ago, when she was a little girl. Or rather, _stories_, for those two stars meant varying things to different cultures and civilizations throughout the centuries. Ancient Babylonians called them the "Great Twins," for Gilgamesh and Enkidu, a mythical pair of friends who fought the gods, progressing through twelve great adventures as they battled. The Greeks looked upon them as two heroes, half-brothers, both sired by the god Zeus with separate mortal women – Hercules and Apollo – one a supernatural man extraordinary for fulfilling twelve impossible labors; the other, the Sun-god and bringer of light, healing, and the arts. The Romans saw them as Castor and Pollux, the twin sons of Leda the Swan, one son sired by the mortal King of Sparta; the other by the immortal king of the gods, formerly Zeus, now Jupiter. Fiercely devoted to one another, upon the death of the mortal Castor, immortal Pollux declared that he wanted to die too, to be with his beloved brother in Hades. Their fidelity was rewarded with shared immortality. In all of these stories, divine immortality was a theme, of two beings straddling the heavens and earth, yet celestially connected to one another in perpetuity.

When Pacey spoke again, his voice took on a sonorous tone. "Once upon a time, there was a little boy who was enslaved by an evil ogre. The ogre was nasty and mean, and had a strange penchant for musical divas. Anyway, one day, he commanded the little boy to guard a doorway that led into a glorious world, beyond his imaginations. But he was told that he could not enter, under no circumstances, or the ogre would eat him up for dinner. The little boy had to stand, like stone, before that door, and never peek at what lay behind it. Then along came a little girl in pigtails, wearing a mighty scowl. The little boy dared her to come with him, to go behind that door, to see the world that they were not allowed to see, beyond it. So she came, and they entered that new world together. Inside, it was beautiful and bright and overwhelming, so they reached out to grab each other's hands, as delicate butterflies flew all around them, fluttering their colors everywhere."

Captivated, Joey leaned back a little into Pacey's hands, still on her back, his thumbs smoothing over her shoulder blades.

"And then the evil ogre came back. Finding them beyond the door, he let out a huge roar, and gobbled them up instantly. But see, they were not the sort to go down easily, so they stuck in his stomach and kicked as hard as they could, causing such a great stomachache, that the ogre grew sick, and vomited them out into the sky. And that is where they sit, forever, surrounded by butterflies, and the remnants of the ogre's dinner, swirling around them."

"That's disgusting," Joey said, elbowing the chortling Pacey, behind her. "You made that up."

"Nope," he responded, grasping her waist and pulling her back, once more gathering her tight against him. "_We_ did."

As Joey adjusted herself within the cradle his limbs and chest provided, she thought about tomorrow and the days that would emerge soon after that. They would be getting a respite soon – away from the growing claustrophobia of these knotted lives, trapped here, cloistered in this cottage - and she was relieved. With Dawson going away for a few days, perhaps she and Pacey could be freer to explore what was happening between them. As if compelled, her gaze drifted down to the words just there, below her feet – Dawson + Joey Friends Forever. Random, Dawson's makeshift blue stars, twinkling from that tree, came immediately to her mind. He had wanted to give her those blue stars he thought she wanted, last night. Yet here, now, Pacey gave her the stories behind the stars, far up there, in the heavens. Stories that constantly shifted, along with their meanings, yet stayed steadfast, shining, despite. At her feet, etched on the boards, lay a reminder of the past. Up above, in all of those stars, future possibilities stretched out before them. Another haphazard thought came to her - there were stars on her red mittens, the day Pacey kissed her by the side of the road. She sighed.

"I wish we could find ways to have more moments like this."

"We won't find them, Jo. We'll have to steal them."

Slipping both of his hands into her waiting ones, resting in her lap, their fingers intertwined and Pacey rested his chin on her shoulder. _Write a different story as you go forward_, Will had said earlier, on the porch. In this moment, all the stories spread out before them up in the sky, as well as this story now, unraveling. So they gazed up, wrapped in each other, to read the sky above. Before those tell-tale headlights came around the bend of the road, effectively ending this stolen time together.


	11. Stolen Moments: Chapter Eleven

TUESDAY 

Sometimes it takes half of your life to grow up, Aunt Gwen thought to herself, sitting at the kitchen table and quietly sipping her coffee in the semi-darkness. And sometimes, it takes an entire lifetime. The pearly light of Tuesday's dawn varnished the stillness of this time just before morning itself awoke. The others were still abed – youth still slumbering – and she, the oldest of this assembled lot, mused over a myriad of things she would not have been considering just one week hence.

Children evolve from a palette unknowingly pre-set by their parents, painted onto the world with brush strokes impacting, and impacted by, so many other emergent renderings. In families with several siblings, mixed hues from that palette may be alternately muted then bold, differing in varied personalities; what is singular in one individual is always so in relation to another. Those hues are tempered or solidified through constant fighting, negotiation, and lessons learned, in constant contact, and often conflict, with each other. Ten years separated her from her older sister, Gail, so those hues tinted and evolved so differently between them. Even now, she was revising those renderings of herself. She modified that thought – Gail, too, was still revising.

Yet an only child does not have this luxury, Aunt Gwen continued to muse, her eyes growing soft, thinking now of Dawson. An only child can become a more direct receptacle for the distinctive characteristics of both parents, those traits becoming more pronounced, sometimes even more fiercely honed, within that one particular being. Dawson was a perfect combination of his parents' best elements – Mitch's staunchness and Gail's self-interested drive. Yet though definite strengths, if left unchecked, these could become intensive flaws as well. When Dawson Leery entered this world, he embarked already front and center of his parents' universe, most especially his father's. Mitch instilled in his son all of his own dreamer tendencies, including that notion of steadfast, all-consuming love for one woman. The way Mitch loved Gail was so all-encompassing, so determined, so_ fixed _upon her. He had loved Gail since childhood and never stopped doing so. Just a girl of eleven when the homecoming queen married her dashing football hero, she remembered thinking then, watching her beautiful sister and her handsome young beau embark upon that new, exciting life together,_ I want someone to love me like that someday. _

Aunt Gwen thought it was so romantic then but she had since learned that great romantic _notions_ were vastly different from great romantic _love_. And she was still learning this, she reflected wryly, running through the events of the past few days, lingering now over lessons learned from kids two-thirds her own age. In the end, the romance she thought she wanted did not transpire into the life she wanted to lead. Because years later, Gwen met Richard. And perfect, fairy-tale love stories did not remain so happily-ever-after. Because just last year, Gail had an affair with a news colleague that had destroyed her seemingly perfect, loving marriage.

It is funny how Life hands you something you think you want, and you grab onto it fiercely, only to find it was really nothing you wanted at all, Aunt Gwen mused, sipping her coffee, thoughtful. That realization of something real, however, can come to you in a moment. Or it can sneak up on you much later down the road, only becoming clear, years later. In the meantime, you live your life making choices based on comparisons. Big-city vs. small-town. Career vs. family. Stability vs. the great unknown. Dreamers vs. doers. Her thoughts came to rest again on Dawson and now, also Pacey. Why does Life need to be stretched between two polarities? And how on earth can Love be?

Much later, when the sun had pushed higher into the sky, now flooding the kitchen with bright late morning sunshine, Aunt Gwen stood on a threshold and cast her eyes upon two girls and three boys caught within the implications of moments not yet fully comprehended. She was an artist, and she specialized in seeing stories, because those are what bring color and texture to the paints and hues placed, pain-staking, onto canvas. So many tales, awaiting.

Aunt Gwen's gaze came to rest upon Dawson, over at the kitchen sick, rinsing the last of the morning dishes, his ascribed chore for this final morning in this cottage, ever. She understood this boy like no other. Because she was exactly like him. And she loved him fiercely because of it. They were dreamers, together. But now she knew, belatedly, that dreamers need idoers/i to make things real, to not just inspire the dreams, but to push them, perhaps even force them, into reality. To challenge them forward. She saw here, clear for the first time, a story unraveling full of vast possibility and, simultaneously, deep, dark pain.

"Dawson," Aunt Gwen said, sidling up next to him by the kitchen sink, as the others scattered themselves between bedroom, living room, and hallway, gathering their things – and themselves – for this final leave-taking. "What I said to you the other night? About finding your way back?"

"Yeah?" he replied, his mind only half on her question as he scrubbed vigorously at a heavily soiled pan.

"Let that rich and powerful imagination of yours open up other possibilities as well. Other ways of being. Other ways of seeing, too," she told him, her tone earnest and sincere.

"Are you talking about Joey, Aunt Gwen?" Dawson asked, glancing up at her. "Because I _am_ seeing her now, maybe for the first time. And I'm telling you, I have faith in our history. If there's one thing you can't do, it's change history."

"Dawson, as long as there are new stories to tell, histories can be remade and revised."

His quizzical stare told her he did not understand. Perhaps it was not yet Dawson's time to understand. Or perhaps tardiness about Life epiphanies just runs in the family on both sides, Leery and otherwise, Aunt Gwen thought ruefully. I guess you can't fight genetics. Growing up is a total bitch, _whenever_ you end up doing it. Someday he would see it, and understand it, hopefully a lot sooner than she had herself. But it was not her place to make him see it now, for she had done enough well-intentioned meddling already. She had her own new journey to focus upon, remembering that after they left, the rest of this week would entail packing up her previous lifetime into boxes to be brought elsewhere, for yet another new beginning. Lessons can be learned only when someone is ready to learn them. So inwardly, she retreated, while outwardly, she grinned at him, saying, "Never mind," picking up a large dry washcloth to assist him with those last few dishes.

In the living room, Pacey tossed his duffel bag onto the couch and then went over to the fireplace, currently dormant and cold, to look at the three framed photographs settled there on its mantel. Aunt Gwen and Gail when they were younger, one a toddler, the other, a pre-pubescent teenager. Aunt Gwen, a little more recently, beaming with joy, nestled in the arms of a grinning bearded man whom he supposed was the infamous Picasso-Redux, Richard. Dawson and Joey, probably about nine, leaning out and merrily laughing down from the barn loft. He paused, remembering that particular spring, the first of those visits that soon became yet another ritual for them. They had asked him to come along, insistent and almost plaintive, because he had been spending less and less time with them that year. He had refused and went off fishing with Will because that boy was on the verge of leaving Capeside soon. And every spring break after that, he still refused, often going out to New Raleigh as a preferred alternative, to hang out with his former enemy, now friend. Except this spring break. When Will came to Capeside instead. And when he had been the one to ask to come along. He felt the heat of a familiar form brushing alongside of him and reflexively, his pulse quickened, his senses on alert.

"Hey," Joey murmured, her voice soft, her eyes flitting over the photographs quickly before coming to rest on his face.

"Hey," Pacey said back, his tone low, almost intimate. They exchanged lazy smirks, touched by simmering warmth. And then, "Um, Jo…you're kinda standing too close to me," he observed dryly.

With a start, Joey hastily stepped away from where she had been standing, practically glued to Pacey's side. Those boundaries of personal space had shifted and changed, especially after last night, and Joey found she had to consciously counter her body's now natural tendencies to gravitate as close to Pacey's as possible, a complete reversal of her conditioned inclinations to flinch and flee from his physical being, previously inherent since childhood. A slight blush coloring her cheekbones, Joey threw him a sheepish look and then went over to an armchair to plop herself down, fidgety.

Joey had finished her packing the night before, nervous energy fueling her drive for preparedness, as she tried not to focus on the fact that she would have to spend all night and the next day pretending to everyone that she despised Pacey's presence too close to her, even while longing for his touch now always too far from her. Pacey, having packed light, had arisen that morning, stuffed his few all-occasion clothes articles into his duffel bag, and was good to go from the get-go. Andie, however, was another story, and Will was now gallantly assisting her in a frantic flurry to get all of her newly-bought craft fair wares ensconced safely and, fully, within her luggage.

Keeping one vigilant eye on Aunt Gwen and Dawson in the kitchen and another eye upon Andie and Will, constantly criss-crossing the hallway between bedroom and living room, disappearing and then re-emerging, as if on rotation, adding more and more things to a growing batch on the couch, Pacey strolled over to grab his duffel bag and Joey's. Inclining his head toward the back door, he motioned for her to follow him, meanwhile calling out, "We're going to start loading the car!"

"Keys are hanging on the hook by the door!" Dawson called back, in return, from his place by the kitchen sink, not bothering to turn around as he addressed him. Aunt Gwen lifted her head to throw Pacey a quick, perturbed look, but then he saw the corner of her mouth lift up, just slightly wry, and he tossed her a jaunty smile before walking out of the house, with Joey close behind.

Once outside, Pacey led them over to the other side of the Explorer, which faced away from the cottage and its potentially revealing windows that looked outward. Abruptly dropping the bags, he drew back against the tall car and snaked his arms around Joey's waist to catch her up against him, dropping his head simultaneously to bring his mouth down to hers. They kissed, hurried and ardent, and Joey leaned up onto her toes to press the entire length of her body even more firmly into him, her arms completely encircling his head, hands threaded into the soft short hair on top of it. Pacey groaned softly and then chuckled, pushing at her gently to set her back down on her heels again, inserting a few safe inches between them.

"You are driving me absolutely mad, woman," he muttered, his voice husky with subdued desire.

Slightly breathless, Joey merely smiled up at him, and then leaned up to lightly kiss his lips one more time before stepping fully away from him. She held out her hand for the car keys, and upon his depositing them there, she rounded back around the Explorer to unlock the back, lifting the window and pulling down the horizontal door.

"It was nice of Mitch and Gail to let Dawson drive us up here in this," Joey commented, conversational, as Pacey tossed their bags into the back.

"Well, seeing as it was necessary and it _did_ used to belong to him until he lost his privileges last February, it's not at all surprising," Pacey replied, reaching down to capture her fingers in his, squeezing them quickly, before letting go as the back door opened. "Hey D!" Pacey called out, upon espying that particular blond boy emerging from the cottage. "Did you get full driving privileges back yet?"

"Still conditional, Pace. But that's better than none at all," was the reply.

"Conditions. You gotta love' em," Pacey said, chuckling. "They always make things so much more interesting."

"Or more difficult," Joey added, leaning into the back of the truck to push hers and Pacey's bags further in.

"Sometimes more impossible," Dawson said, as he came over to them. He handed Joey his duffel bag and then placed a small soda-filled portable cooler into the truck.

Aunt Gwen paused in the doorway, watching these three as they worked together to make room in that truck for all of the baggage yet to come. They were joking. They were laughing. They were completely at ease. It was the lull before the storm, she thought, wistful and also a little sad. Eventually, a choice would have to be made between those two boys, a decision that would lead to a whole host of consequences. That resulting explosion ahead could be both messy and extraordinary. In moments like these, she did not envy their youth. Sighing, she went back into the house, closing the door behind her.

xxxxxxx

They had been on the road for just over two hours, playing made-up silly games of question-and-answer like "What myth was that one?" and "Name the movie, not the book." Not surprisingly, the boys each had their strong streaks, with Pacey and Will tag-teaming the entire car on mythology and Dawson, a formidable solo act with the movie trivia. Andie and Joey had just started a game during which they were trumping the boys with logic conundrums, when Dawson turned off the expressway to head toward a grouping of storefronts, for the requisite bathroom-legs-stretching-aimless-browsing-get-some-gas-and-maybe-some-food road break.

While Andie and Will wandered over to a hot dog stand where some local kids were hawking that ubiquitous treat along with cups of homemade lemonade, and Dawson and Pacey gassed up at the tiny station there - the one manning the pump, the other, grabbing window-washing responsibilities - Joey strolled over to a small but quaint bookstore to peruse its offerings. She went in search of the mythology section first, her intellectually competitive nature urging her to brush up for any future QA rounds in the car, but found herself lingering at the shelf that held the human sexuality books instead. Glancing around furtively and seeing no one around, including the shopkeeper, who had gone to the back to do some obviously pressing inventory, Joey ran her finger across the titled spines, curious. **_The New Joy of Sex: A Gourmet Guide to Lovemaking For the Nineties_** caught her eye.

Stealthily, she eased the tome outward and started flipping through the pages. She checked the author's name first and read the Preface – Alex Comfort, M.D., D.Sc. Properly credentialed. Then, she turned to the copyright page to see how recently it had been published. First edition, 1972; this edition, updated 1991. Recent enough. Her eyes scanned the Table of Contents, amused to see it arranged in categories one would find in a cookbook: Ingredients; Appetizers; Main Courses; Sauces; Venues; Health and Other Issues. Glancing through the entries, her brow furrowed at some of the terms she encountered: _cassolette, femoral intercourse, flanquette, postillionage, croupade_. She had never known there were so many words associated with sex! A poem introduced a set of erotic black-and-white photographs at the start of the book. Intrigued, Joey set to reading it.

_i like my body when it is with your_

_body. It is so quite new a thing._

_Muscles better and nerves more._

_i like your body. i like what it does,_

_i like its hows. i like to feel the spine_

_of your body and its bones, and the trembling_

_-firm-smooth ness and which I will_

_again and again and again_

_kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,_

_i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz_

_of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes_

_over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,_

_and possibly i like the thrill_

_of under me you so quite new_

_**e.e.cummings**_

"You boning up on your studies already, Jo?" Pacey asked, coming up behind her to peer over her shoulder.

Joey started violently at the sound of his voice and slammed the book shut, folding her arms over it and gathering it close to her chest, praying that Pacey had not seen the photo of that erotic naked coupling on the opposite page of the poem. Unfortunately, to a teenage boy's eye, trained to seek out and locate any hint of nakedness of a womanly form, no immediacy is fast enough. That split-second flash had told him everything he needed to know. Still, he had the grace to become slightly flushed at his unfortunate, though apt, choice of salutatory words. But in an instant, that tell-tale smirk started to slide across his lips.

"Pacey," Joey warned, turning her head slightly to pin him with a killing look.

He managed to stay silent, his laughter instead spilling over from his twinkling eyes, and then he cleared his throat, shifting to stand half-beside and half-in front of her. Looking down at the book clasped so tightly against her chest, he reached out to grasp the edge of it, drawling, "Well, let's just see what you've got here. Maybe it's a subject I can help you with."

"Not funny," Joey bit out, resisting his attempt to pry it from her fingers. "At all."

"Relax, Jo," he said, chuckling, bringing his other hand up to smooth over her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Really, let me have a looksee."

Sighing, she let go of the book and stood by, slightly embarrassed, somewhat exasperated, as Pacey now thumbed through the pages.

"There's an awful lot of text in this book. Figures you'd pick out the most wordy book ever written about sex," Pacey observed, chuckling again.

"There's more to sex than just the pictures, Pacey," Joey admonished.

"Oh believe me, I know," Pacey said, looking at her and grinning wolfishly.

She blushed fiercely and then reached out to grab the book back from him.

"If you insist on being an ass about this, then please turn around and take that damned ass right on back to the car _now_," Joey said, her tone firm, bordering on angry, her hazel-brown eyes now spitting quicksilver fire at him.

Pacey glimpsed the sheen of uncomfortable tears beneath her wrath and instantly felt contrite. Stepping forward, he placed his hand upon her cheek and dropped a soft kiss upon her forehead, his other arm slipping easily around her waist to draw her near. Still mulish, she resisted at first, and then, after some gentle, insistent tugging, she finally submitted to a light embrace.

"I'm sorry, Jo," he whispered, brushing his lips against her temple.

She nodded and then stepped back to look at him. He smiled at her, sheepish, and then pointed at the book again. "For a book with more text than pictures, I do have to say that the pictures aren't half bad. Those photos are at least more modern and the illustrations are actually very good."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Ebert, for your thumbs up approval of my reading material," Joey responded, sardonic.

"Well, it's a much more visually interesting manual than the one Dawson and I stumbled onto in his parent's room once. All the people in _that_ one were hairy and bearded. And the women had hair in their armpits!" Pacey exclaimed, only half-mocking with his horror.

Joey laughed, eased into relaxation by Pacey's successful attempt to make amends, and started flipping through the pages of the book again, paying more attention to the pictures this time. Pacey maneuvered himself behind her, his face hovering over her shoulder, his hands resting lightly on her hips, examining the drawings along with her as she turned the pages. "It's amazing just how many positions you can get yourself into during sex, yes?" he threw out, his tone conversational.

"Quite," Joey replied, maintaining that casual tone, smiling. "Any favorites?" she asked, teasing.

"Hey guys?" Dawson's voice interrupted, raised and inquiring.

Impulsively, Joey turned, shoving the book at Pacey, who reflexively grabbed it, while she high-tailed it around the corner of the high bookshelves of their section just as Dawson came strolling around the opposite end. _Note to self_, Pacey thought, _kill Joey later_. Coming over to him, Dawson paused as his eyes took in the title of the book Pacey was clutching in his hands.

"Catching up on your reading, Pace?" Dawson inquired, dryly amused.

_Addendum to note: make it slow and painful._ _**Real** slow. **Very** painful._


	12. Stolen Moments: Chapter Twelve

_Can you actually crave a person's presence?_

It had been early afternoon when the gang finally re-entered the Capeside town limits, each occupant of the Ford Explorer in different stages of long-drive stupor. Joey having been delegated the sole responsibility to keep the driver entertained – kept tossing surreptitious peeks at the backseat doings of the three behind her via the rearview mirror. At Andie, lolling sleepily, dangerously close to slumping against Will, already half-crashed out into fitful on-again, off-again dozing. At a tired and irritable Pacey, eyeing her in the mirror, a grim smirk perched at the corner of his mouth. His brief, speaking glare as he got into the car earlier, after her little stunt in the bookstore, wordlessly promised a later retribution. And Dawson's continuous good-natured jibing about Pacey's "studious stopover" throughout the rest of their drive did not help matters any. So it was difficult keeping her thoughts focused forward, on helping Dawson maintain their course on the road ahead of them, when she knew Pacey was sitting right behind her, probably plotting his revenge.

Once they were back within Capeside's familiar territorial boundaries, Dawson chauffeured them each to varying points of divergence. Will and Pacey were let out first at Doug's apartment, so they could unload their things before heading right back out to pick up Buzz. The three were going over to the _True Love_, to work diligently at its final repairs, because they now had a deadline for its coming out party that Saturday. Then Andie, who tossed a hurried but sincere goodbye over her shoulder, after they helped her carry her luggage to the porch steps. Rushing to re-enter her house, she was anxious to see what had been wrought by the McPhee father-son bonding, hoping it had not been de-railed during her few days' absence. Joey was dropped off last at the B & B, to check in with Bessie and Bodie. For those next several hours, she babysat Alexander and tended to their lodging guests as that oft-separated pair went off to spend some rare, quality alone-time together.

Now, it was late evening and she was sitting on Dawson's bed, keeping him company as he organized himself for yet another journey forward.

"You still nervous about this trip with your dad, Dawson?" Joey asked him, noting her best friend's slight restlessness as he moved about the room, gathering up sundry camping necessities.

"A little," Dawson admitted, glancing up at her, wary.

"It's going to be fine," she said, reassuring.

"Yeah, I know," he replied, shrugging. But a slight frown still marred his usually smooth brow.

As she observed Dawson's lingering anxiety, Joey thought back over the past two weeks and its abundance of male bonding events. First, Pacey and Dawson went off together for an overnight re-visiting of their old childhood fort, which was on the verge of being demolished. Then, there were the formerly estranged McPhees, spending the past few days reworking a formerly severed bond. Now, here was Dawson and his dad, embarking upon a three day camping trip, to solidify their recently-repaired father-son relations. _Is there something special about the springtime air that cultivates kindred male bond re-attachments?_ Joey mused. Reconciliation this past year between the Senior and Junior Leery males had been just as pain-staking as the one between the husband-and-wife, so this was a momentous occasion for Dawson. And camping was an eternal male bonding ritual, second only to baseball and that always significant game of catch. _Perhaps it was no coincidence that baseball season begins in the springtime,_ she added now, amused. Hell, even Pacey had shed a small tear or two during that ending scene in _Field of Dreams_ when Kevin Costner finally tossed a baseball back and forth with the ghost of his father in that cornfield in Iowa.

Pacey. Of course her thoughts always came back to him these days. Joey sighed and glanced over at the still visible dent on the closet door, the one she had embedded, having missed eight-year old Pacey's head by mere inches with a furiously thrown, Roger Clemens-autographed, Red Sox-emblazoned baseball, years ago. She had thrown it pretty hard at him and only his fast reflexes – and Dawson's well-timed warning shout – saved him from a brutal head-beaning. But he had not escaped injury, his abrupt swerving throwing him off-balance, causing him to fall and slam his chin onto the edge of an open dresser drawer corner, puncturing a deep, bloody gash at the bottom of his chin. The wound required a hospital visit and stitches. Even now, he carried a small scar from the incident. Joey got the spanking of her life for that one. And her mother did not even believe in disciplinary violence. _You could've seriously injured him, Josephine! Worse yet, you could've killed him! Do you understand? _What if she _had_ killed him? Illogical tears formed beneath her eyelids. Oh Lord! Was she _really_ starting to become a basket case over an incident so long-past? But that notion of a split-second that could have altered the course of a lifetime hung heavily in her mind. What if…what if…what if…? What if Pacey had died? And she had killed him? Joey shuddered to consider it now. Once, she thought his permanent absence would be the most welcome thing in the world. Now, she felt the keen loss of his presence everywhere she went without him.

Once again, the question resurfaced: _Can you crave a person's presence?_ Obviously, the answer was _yes_.

"You know, since we got back this afternoon, I've been thinking a lot about where we all are right now, at this moment of our lives," Dawson was saying, going over to that very same bedroom dresser to open its top drawer. Grabbing a few thick, long-sleeved plaid shirts out of it, he carelessly tossed them onto the bed.

"What? Teenagers suffering through their junior year in high school, bravely soldiering on to get to that other side called senior year, just so we can start all over again, focusing on that final crawl to the finish line called graduation?" Joey questioned in answer, her tone dry. She reached for the shirts, to fold them neatly, stacking them one upon the other.

"No, it's more than that. Oh – thanks!" Dawson said, turning now from his brief assessment of the pile he was slowly dumping onto the floor – sleeping bag, insect repellent, first-aid-kit, flashlight, lantern, air pillow, hiking boots to see that orderly stack of shirts awaiting him. He reached over to grab them, shoving them into his duffel bag. "You said it last weekend – things are changing. I don't know – I guess I feel like we're all reaching one of those momentous Life transitions now and it's all coming to a head and I can't quite grasp it all, but it's right there, just waiting for me – or I've been waiting for it. I mean, Aunt Gwen is starting over again. My parents are starting over. Jen is starting over, finally letting herself be loved by someone. Jack is starting over with his dad. And then there's you and me."

Staring at Dawson's earnest face, Joey thought, _Now, right now, is a good time to tell him_. The words hovered on the tip of her tongue: _Oh, and here's something else…me and Pacey are starting over too, and we're exploring these new feelings for each other, see, and-_

"And then there's me and Pacey," Dawson added, as if grabbing the words right off of her tongue, re-inserting them onto his, so he could push them out into the air first, effectively silencing her yet again. "Last week when we were at our old fort, I remembered just how amazing our friendship is. He found our friendship time capsule box – the one we buried when we were ten-"

"You guys assembled a friendship time capsule box?" Joey interrupted, bemused by the notion of those things between Dawson and Pacey that even she was not a part of. "What was in it?"

"Oh – just stuff," Dawson replied, shrugging. "Doesn't really matter. It's the concept of it that counts, the larger idea that surrounds it. Two best friends sworn into blood brotherhood. We even created that secret code-"

"You mean the gibberish?" Joey inserted again. "I always hated it when you guys used it around me."

Dawson laughed, remembering that Pacey purposely used it more often around Joey, just to rile her. "You know, even though I haven't been the best judge of his character this year – I've sometimes been an ass to him actually – since Andie, Pacey's really become a truly amazing guy. I mean, he was great before, too, because he never wavers, you know? He's steadfast and true and the most loyal person I know. But I think love changed him even more for the better. What do you think?"

Caught off-guard, Joey was speechless for a long second before saying, "Love certainly is as good a reason as any other." Well, _that_ was lame! she berated herself.

"No, really! I mean, look how good a friend he's become to you, past battles and insults – or rather continuing battles and insults – notwithstanding. I've actually found myself in awe of him several times this year."

Hearing the admiration in Dawson's voice as he spoke of Pacey and seeing the shining affection in his eyes, she could not help but smile. "You really should tell him these things more often, Dawson," Joey said quietly, the look she gave him, both tender and empathetic. "I think he'd really appreciate hearing them."

"Well, we're guys. That's not what we do. It's all about the typical hearty shoulder-clapping and the sports metaphor subtexts and the butt-slapping during organized athletics."

"Since when do you or Pacey participate in organized athletics?"

"Well, Pacey did, briefly, in middle school, before his dad had him pulled off the hockey team for letting his grades slip a little, remember?"

"Oh yeah, that was back when he was actually a decent student." Joey remembered thirteen-year old Pacey's crestfallen face after school that day, when his coach told him he was off the team, even though he was quickly becoming their star player. Sheriff Witter had rushed away on a sudden station call, so left it to that reluctant and disappointed fellow to break the news to his son. Pacey, and his grades, never recovered from the blow.

"And he did Pee Wee baseball for a bit, before quitting after just one season," Dawson pointed out, as he bent to sit on the floor so that he could start stuffing the rest of those gathered things into his duffel bag. Tilting his head, he continued, thoughtful, "I never did figure out that one because he was actually pretty good, I think. But he never wanted to talk about it."

Joey's mind automatically went back to Pacey, sitting forlornly at the Icehouse last year, when the Potters were still restaurant owners, before the fire that consumed both their livelihood and their newly-reassembled-family occurred. _We had this huge game at the end of the season. It was two outs, bottom of the ninth, and I was up to bat. I struck out. Anyway, we get home and my dad just proceeds to ream me. Tell me what a loser I am and what a disgrace I am to the whole family and town for losing the game. Next morning I go down to breakfast, and I overhear my dad relaying the events of the game to my brother. I heard him say to him, 'At least I have you.' I never told anybody this but I wish I'd never heard him say that._

Pulling her mind back into the present, Joey focused on the boy seated on the floor by the bed, to keep her thoughts from drifting yet again to that other boy who was not even here, saying, "Well, as I recall, you were not on that hockey team, never played Pee Wee baseball, and would rather scout locations for the movies in your mind rather than submit yourself to such standard guy fare." Joey plopped herself back onto the bed. Looking up at the ceiling, she added, "You're never were a typical guy, Dawson."

"But that's what you like about me, right?" he responded, grinning. "You said it yourself it's what you always wanted."

Actually, her exact words were _You're what I'm _**_going_**_ to want_, but Joey did not feel like correcting him. Because over these last few weeks, maybe even perhaps the whole past year, she knew she was in the midst of correcting _herself_. _For so long, all I've thought about was you. All I dreamed about was you,_ she told Dawson last year, after their first go-round as an official couple left her sadly flat and yearning for something else she could not quite fathom. _What happened?_ he asked her then, perplexed and pained.

"Joey?" Dawson's voice interrupted. "Did you hear what I just said?"

Joey snapped back to attention, turning her head so that her gaze came to rest upon Dawson's inquiring expression, hovering there, at the bedside. "I'm sorry…uh …could you repeat that?"

He sent her a puzzled look before continuing. "I asked you what you were planning to do for the rest of Spring Break."

"Oh," Joey said. "Well, um…probably help Bessie out with the spring vacation boarders at the B & B and then get started on that Watergate assignment."

"Wanna come over for a really late dinner Friday night, when I get back? We can plan last-minute stuff for the _True Love_'s christening on Saturday."

Joey paused, thinking about it. She had no idea what her plans were going to be on Friday night as she had not spoken nor seen Pacey since they dropped him off earlier that afternoon. All she knew for certain was that those plans would most definitely include him and her – or rather, _them_, together. On the other hand, Friday night could be the perfect time to tell Dawson. Deadlines were good things to set and it would relieve her from this current pressure of that necessary telling, freeing her to focus on more pressing things over the next three days. Resolved now, she replied, "Sure, Dawson."

"It will be late though. We won't get back until dark. Probably around nine o'clock or so? That okay?"

Joey nodded and, after tossing her a satisfied smile, Dawson stood up to go over to the closet, disappearing inside to rummage for a few more things to add to his duffel bag. Fingering the bedspread beneath her, Joey pondered that interrupted recollection from before: _What happened?_ Dawson had asked her. And her response: _I got my dream and now I feel like I don't have anything else. I mean, you have your future so perfectly planned, Dawson, you know exactly what you want to do, what you want to accomplish, and I don't even know who I am, let alone who I want to be or accomplish and I need to figure that out. I need to find my something._ Do dreams change as you grow older? Or do dreams just grow older as _you_ change?

Since she, Dawson and Pacey first came together, they had evolved a perfect balance of elements between them, from five years old to now. She and Pacey were the extremes, the opposing ends of the spectrum, pulling at each other ferociously for dominance and power. And in-between, there was Dawson – placid and perfect – the calming anchor, the one that held the center and kept the bottom from dropping out. Because for two of that seemingly inseparable trio, those bottoms had already fallen away, long before, elsewhere. Yet Dawson's movie imaginations embraced them wholeheartedly, offering them an escape into emerging new visions.

In Dawson's world, Joey was an all-powerful, wise guide dispensing snarky advice or a feisty princess who often rescued herself, not the lonely little girl up the creek whose family was slowly falling apart. And Pacey was a fellow conquering explorer or a kindred noble knight, always that faithful companion, integral to every mission and fiercely important to his buddy, instead of the unwanted child in a home too full of needy siblings who had preceded him. It was only later that they started to explore the darker side of those inventive visions – full of severed head victims and sea-creatures once Dawson evolved into his obsessive horror movie kick. But even then, they were always inherent in those imaginings.

When they were in Dawson's world, things were so magical. As long as they never left it, they, too, were capable of magic. When they stepped into those imagined scenes Dawson created, into the roles he cast for them, becoming beings far more fascinating than the ones they were in real life, they could see a different world opening up before them, full of new possibilities. Though she and Pacey could never stop bickering, would never stop competing for Dawson's attention, they still always came together at the Leery house, that harbor from the storm of their daily family lives – away from those tumultuous Potters and the ever-neglectful Witters. At the Leery home, they were always given space to dream.

But when they were nine, their world changed. Pacey and Will spent an entire year previous forming their own bond, separate from she and Dawson, and that sudden imbalance threw them. Soon, he was off fishing and hanging out with someone else entirely, no longer needing them at all, no longer needing their world, either. That was when she started to _really_ dislike Pacey. So she and Dawson clung to each other even more fiercely, starting with that annual Spring Break ritual to Aunt Gwen's, continuing it with each passing year, especially in the face of Pacey's constant refusals to accompany them. And then, they established their weekly Movie Nights to bind that connection even more tightly. They spun new dreams, inclusive only of them, a reconstituted solitary pair, promising to stay soulmates, forever.

But then, Will left, and Pacey was back. And Dawson and Pacey built their fort, excluding her from its mystified environs with a "Boys Only" policy, forcefully implemented and stubbornly protected. That was when she started _hating_ Pacey. Not only had he left their world first, he had also presumed to come back to it, different and changed, taking Dawson away into that rarified "typical guy" place that she could never be a part of. Dawson, who had saved her from certain loneliness that year, who would later keep her anchored when more wrenching abandonment occurred—the day her father went away to prison that first time, and that morning her mother finally died. The golden boy who saved her from becoming lost, suddenly found something else, crossing over into another world of secret codes and buried friendship time capsule boxes and ubiquitous male bonding. It was times like those that she wished she had been born a boy.

Joey did not know exactly when she stopped hating Pacey, and recalling his hurried kiss by the car this morning, she smiled, because it was times like _these_ that she was eternally grateful she had been born a girl instead. Wishes, like dreams, could change too. _What I'm saying is, all you have here is an eyes closed wish,_ Pacey had said to her last week, as they bickered in the car before she went off to Boston, to see A. J. for what would be the last time. _Sometimes wishes come true,_ she had countered, staunch. _Yes, sometimes wishes do come true. Sometimes even in unexpected places. But reality always finds a way of creeping back in, Jo. The clock inevitably strikes midnight. There's pumpkin city. The fantasy fades._ But what was on the other side of the fantasy? If she stepped out of this familiar world she was so comfortable in, what would be there to greet her on the other side? She wondered now: Can you outgrow a dream? Does a dream outgrow _you_? Pacey had left their world first, always self-sufficient to a fault. That was something she had always resented about him as a child. Because deep down, she had always envied it, too.

The phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. Dawson rushed out of the closet and jauntily flipped the phone off its cradle, bringing it swiftly up to his ear.

"Hello? Hey, Pace." Joey looked up at Dawson's face, suddenly watchful. "Nah – just last-minute stuff. Joey's helping out, though, so we should be finishing up soon…nope, took care of it all. You just need to show up come Saturday, around noonish. High noon, as they say. Hey – are we still doing that thing in the morning? Yeah…let's meet up here at the house. Okay…sure." Now, he was holding the phone out to Joey. "He wants to talk to you." After she reached to take it from his outstretched hand, Dawson immediately went over to the door. "I'm just gonna go check in with my dad outside. He's loading the tent into the truck."

"Don't forget to get the keys. So you can drive me home."

"You gonna stick around a bit to say hi to my mom? She should be back from Philly in about an hour or so. She'd be glad to see you."

"We'll see."

"Okay, I'll be back in a few."

Joey nodded and then bent her ear to the phone, to talk to the boy she had been thinking of all day, the one that, these days, was never far from her mind.


	13. Stolen Moments: Chapter Thirteen

"Were your ears burning or something?" Joey asked Pacey, as Dawson left the room, closing the door behind him. She sat up, cross-legged, in the middle of the bed.

"Why? Were you chanting up at the heavens, invoking my name?" he teased, chortling softly. She heard some clinking in the background and deduced he was close to a sink, probably idly playing with a soap dish.

"Dawson and I were just talking about you."

Abrupt quiet greeted her on the other side of the phone line. Then, "You were?"

Joey belatedly realized how loaded that statement was. "We were talking about your overnighter last week at the old fort."

"That's it?" Pacey inquired.

"That's all," Joey replied.

"So you still haven't told him."

"Well, the right moment-"

"-Haven't found it yet, huh?" he finished for her. She heard a faucet being switched on and off, repeatedly. Pacey never was one to sit still. "So is this going to become a long, drawn-out saga, Jo?"

"I'm telling him on Friday night."

Another quiet pause greeted her, devoid of clattering sink trinkets or rushing tap water. "When did you decide this?"

"When Dawson asked me if I wanted to come over for a late dinner after he got back."

"You're spending Friday night with him?" Pacey asked, his tone slightly incredulous, maybe even a little put-out.

"I'm having _dinner_ with him," Joey clarified. "And a late dinner, at that. I'm hoping I'll be spending all my time before that with _you_. Is that a vain hope I'm harboring?"

"No," Pacey replied, sounding more relaxed, relieved even. "I guess I could try to fit you into my crowded schedule," he continued, his voice brisk. "I'll see what I can do."

"Gee, thanks, Mr. Witter, CEO. I am so deeply grateful for your consideration," Joey answered, sarcastic. She heard his husky chuckle coming through the receiver and a half-smile pulled at her lips.

"So what about the old fort incident? Anything I should know?"

"Nothing you don't already know. I mean, you were _there_, after all. I was never allowed past the 30-foot restraining circle you chalked all around it."

"Ah yes, I do recall something to that effect now." Joey could hear the grin in his voice. "Still jealous, Josephine?"

"I'm not nine anymore," she threw out, her tone arch. "I no longer yearn to be included in all of your silly boy games. But I _did_ hear about the friendship time capsule box, though Dawson refused to tell me what you guys put into it."

"Doesn't matter. It's all about the concept."

"That's almost _exactly_ what Dawson said, only shorter."

After yet another brief pause, Pacey continued, "You know, I took him out there so I could tell him about kissing you the morning we got back from Boston."

"And then…?"

"And then Buzz and Company crashed the party and the moment was lost. Those right moments are a real bitch to hold on to, you know?"

"Believe me, I know," Joey agreed with a chuckle. "Actually, Dawson said all of these really great things about you tonight," she continued. "He even said that sometimes, he's been in awe of you this past year."

"In awe of _me_?"

"Yup." Joey grinned, imagining the pleased and surprised look that was probably on Pacey's face right now. "I told him he should tell you more often. But then he started talking about all this boy-to-boy etiquette stuff and he changed the subject."

"You know, he _did_ say something along those lines to me a while back, when we were all staying at the B & B, that time I got Frederick Fricke to come out for a visit. Yup, me and Dawson definitely had one of those _bonding_ episodes that day."

"Did you now?" Joey observed, dryly.

"Yes, we did," Pacey responded, in a faux-earnest voice, laughter lurking beneath it. And then, in the background, Joey heard Doug bellowing _"Pacey!"_ and a pounding on a door. "Hold on a sec, okay?..._What?"_

_"Pace! Will you get out of there already! I need to come in and clean!"_

_"Dougie, you could eat off the floor in here! Hell! You could drink out of the damned toilet, it's so fucking clean!"_

_"Are you taking the longest dump ever or what? And since when did you start talking to yourself while doing the dirty deed?"_

Joey heard the sound of a door opening. _"I'm on the phone."_

_"And why, pray tell, do you find it necessary to use the bathroom as a phone booth?"_

_"Well, I dunno. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that you're blasting the VH-1 Divas in the living room and insist on drowning them out with your less-than-stellar singing while you dust and vacuum. But if you're coming in here, I'll go out there. And I'm turning off the tunes, dude."_

_"Whatever, little brother. Just don't make any messes out there. I just finished tidying up." __  
_  
Joey heard shuffling footsteps and a muffled "ooompfh", signifying some sort of reaction to a surely less-than-gentle shoving, but she could not tell which Witter brother was the instigator and which was the recipient. Shania Twain's live rendition of "You're Still the One" was abruptly terminated into silence and then she heard Pacey sigh before saying, "Jo? You still there?" indicating his full return to their phone conversation. Joey giggled in response. "You think that's funny, huh?" Pacey asked her, his tone balancing between amused and annoyed. "I'm in freakin' purgatory here and there you are, laughing at me."

"Where's Will?"

"Grabbing dinner with Andie and Jack."

"Why didn't you go with them?"

"Too tired."

"You still pissed at me about the bookstore thing?" Joey asked him then, remembering that brief glare from earlier that afternoon.

"Oh, don't worry," Pacey assured her, cracking a small laugh. "I'll get my payback in time. When you least expect it."

"Is that right?"

"Mhmmm. Better keep your guard up, missy."

Grinning, Joey fell back against the bed, settling herself, comfortable, on the thick fluffy pillows behind her. "So where are you, now that you've been expelled from that room that rates second only to the kitchen in your life?"

"In the living room. On the couch. And the bathroom is third in ranking, after the kitchen, which is second."

"What's first?" Joey asked, automatically, before growing silent on a blush.

Pacey's low chuckle confirmed the embarrassing direction her following thoughts immediately took. "That would be where-ever my bed is. In this case, where I'm sitting now, since this is what masquerades as my place of slumber these days." Then, his voice lowered to a quieter, deeper timbre. "Joey, seriously…I want to see you so bad."

Her breath caught and Joey bit down softly on her lower lip before answering in a soft voice, "I want to see you too."

"I can't leave. Dougie's home-bound for the night and would ask too many questions."

"I can't go. I'm waiting for Dawson and I might stick around to say hello to Gail too."

Pacey sighed into another quiet pause between them. Joey turned onto her side on the bed, cradling the phone against her ear with both hands, snuggling it against her face amidst the pillows. Briefly, her mind flashed back to that first night at Aunt Gwen's, when she and Pacey shared the bed, yet stayed carefully distanced from one another, their bodies close, yet necessarily, and exasperatingly, kept separate and not touching. Until the next morning, when she felt his arm brush against her back, shivering her senses.

"So I guess it's tomorrow then," Pacey finally said, breaking the brief, wordless interlude, his tone resigned.

"When?"

A cock-sure snicker assailed her ears, undoubtedly accompanied by a grin she could sense, though not see. "Counting down the minutes already, Josephine?"

"Bite me, Pace."

His chuckle, this time, was low and knowing. Joey blushed, realizing that there could be a new context for those words between them now. She was silent again, her thoughts racing to compose themselves. "Get your mind out of the sewer, Jo."

"What are you talking about?" she protested, growing redder.

"Your silence screeched volumes."

"Well then, here's the muted version," Joey retorted, clicking the phone off abruptly, cutting the connection. The phone rang right back.

"You hung up on me!"

"You were being snide."

"I'm just kidding."

"Yeah, me too. I knew you'd call back."

"See you tomorrow then?"

"You can wait that long?"

"Of course. My willpower is legendary, as you well know."

Joey blushed again. Would she ever _stop_?

"Quit blushing, Jo," she heard him say. _Damn him!_ "Should I come over to the B & B after we finish at the _True Love_?"

"Yeah, that would work. I think I'm on B & B duty all day tomorrow, especially since Bodie is here. So I doubt I'll be able to leave, except for errands here and there."

"How long is Bodie here for, this time?"

"At least until the end of the week, I think."

"I'm sure Bessie is pleased."

"You know Bessie – she's ecstatic, of course, but also more anxious."

"Okay, so I'll come around six o'clock?"

"Figures you'd suggest around dinner-time, with Bodie and his culinary gifts back in town."

"But of course!" Pacey proclaimed. "Besides, I'm sure Bessie will be happy to have me around to keep Alexander occupied."

"You mean it the other way around, don't you?"

"Ha ha, Josephine. As always, you are a natural riot. So anyway, we'll figure out what we'll do when I get there tomorrow evening, okay?"

"Okay."

"'Night, Jo. See ya."

"Good night, Pacey."

Placing the phone back on its base, Joey moved off the bed and went over to the window. Down below, the Leery men leaned against the Ford Explorer, talking earnestly. From her vantage point, she could see the exact same soulful expression on both of their faces. Thoughtful, Joey watched them from above, wondering what on earth they were discussing that would engender such somber demeanors.

XXXXX

"Leery men always love only one woman per lifetime."

Mitch Leery's favorite saying, oft-spoken with deep, abiding pride, was what he jauntily offered up now, to his preoccupied, bemused son, as they lounged outside by the Ford Explorer, under a cool night-time sky. They were talking about the vagaries of love, its twists and turns, and its persistent through-lines within the evolution of a lifetime. Though Dawson had not intended to get into a profound conversation when he first came out to get the keys from his dad, they found themselves gravitating toward one, anyway. Philosophizing about life was a preferred shared past-time of theirs, and it spouted up now, and though unbidden, was actually welcomed by the younger Leery.

"How many lifetimes do you expect to have, Dad?" Dawson asked, eyeing his father's optimistic countenance, amused.

"As many as I can muster," Mitch replied, grinning.

"And you wonder why I'm such a romantic," Dawson scoffed, but he was smiling.

"So what happened while you guys were at Gwen's?"

"She says she needs more time," Dawson replied, looking up toward the light of his bedroom window, at the silhouette of Joey briefly framed there before she turned to move out of his range of vision. Instantly, he remembered that all-too-brief brushing of their lips in the barn. And her rather abrupt termination of it.

Mitch glanced over at him, bemused. "Well, Time is both long _and_ short, son."

"_You're_ the one who said there was no time constraint about how long you can care about someone, and no limit either, especially if they've been so much a part of your life already."

"Wow! You recalled that almost word-for-word. I'm impressed!"

"Sometimes I actually listen when you talk, Dad."

Mitch laughed and then patted his son's shoulder before walking over to the back of the Explorer, to continue with his tent loading. "Could you grab the flashlight, Dawson? It's in the glove compartment up front. I need to go back to the shed for a few more things after I finish this."

While getting into the front seat of the car, Dawson continued his musings, recalling what he told Pacey last week at the old fort. _Recently I've been trying to connect with who I was in the past, when I had all this passion and I knew who I was, and things were simplemagical, even. But now I justI don't know, maybe I never was that person. Maybe I just _**_thought_**_ I was. _This past year or so had been especially fraught with challenges. The struggle of on-again, off-again romance with Joey, ending with him spending his first summer, since the day they first met, without her. His parents getting divorced amidst much anger and recrimination, yet despite that, dancing around each other again, side-stepping that earlier betrayal. Now, they were moving towards reconciliation with unclear boundaries and smudged lines, leaving him confused and often irritated. Even his film-making visions – usually the one anchoring element of his existence had become a casualty of his waning passion to will them into being.

So he had cast about, groping for balance, looking for a new order of things, because the old one was teetering. A summer away from Capeside and his friends in Philadelphia. A dalliance with a mystery-girl named Eve. Impulsive mistakes and wrongful accusations. Sojourns into drunken adolescent shenanigans. But surprisingly enough, despite his own admittedly clumsy attempts to set himself aright, and in the face of often misguided aspersions projected onto his two best friends throughout, they remained the one stable thing in his life, always at the ready by his side, though often separately these days, rather than together.

Mulling over the new dynamic Joey and Pacey had seemingly forged this past year, Dawson recalled a whole host of their caustic battles, the incidents piled so high in his memory they would reach up into the sky. Though he had been present – and would often mediate between them – during those tussles, he often felt strangely disconnected from them, estranged from their fierce energies thrown so willfully at one another. He usually stood off to the side sometimes the reason for the warring, sometimes not – but in the end, always the one they each gravitated toward, singularly.

Again, he recalled Pacey's words to him last week: _You're the guy who builds this fantastic world. You just let the rest of us live in it._ Was he really that guy _now_? If not, could he be that guy again? On his sixteenth birthday last year, he had let loose with an unforgivable, angry rant, his resentments and frustrations gushing outward, excruciating and ruthless, unleashed by the freeing influence of too much liquor. Even now, he winced, remembering.

_I wish…I wish that my mom never slept with her co-anchor. I wish that my father would stop talking about actually getting a job and go out and get one! I wish the two of you would stop your petty bickering and at least pretend to be the adults around here! I wish that my friend Pacey would just end this transformation of this A-student, do-gooder, all-around sanctimonious angel and would go back to what he does best, which is make me feel good about my life when his is supposed to be worse…And then, of course, there's my Joey. My sweet, precious Joey. The only 16-year-old in the world that needed to find herself. But you know what? That's okay. I accept it. You need to find yourself, and I accept it._

Yet Joey forgave him. _Don't worry about it, Dawson. I forgive you. I mean, even _**_you_**_ are allowed to make a few mistakes in this world and I'm sure that everyone else will forgive you eventually, too. You pretty much told the truth anyway. _To which he responded with the _real_ truth, the one that dogged him constantly, that he fashioned his dreams upon to make it less so: Y_eah, but the way I did it...God, I am so lonely. I'm 16 years old and I'm so hopelessly lonely. _

And then the next morning, Pacey presented himself on his doorstep. Dawson had expected him to let him have it, even to punch his lights out for all of those horrible things he had said, in front of all of those people. But he just stood there, his hands in his pockets and said only, _I just want to know one thing, Dawson, and then we'll never speak of this again. Did you mean what you said last night? Is that what you really think of me?_ Looking into Pacey's somber face that day, Dawson felt assailed by a remorse and disgust for himself so powerful, he almost buckled from its force. _No_, he told him, _I did not. I'm so, so sorry. _

Though always central to the love between his parents, he often felt over-shadowed by that fierce, concentrated passion. Being around it constantly, on the sidelines observing, he always felt solitary and alone. The Leerys moved to Philadelphia when they first married and then returned to Capeside when Dawson was five years old. Simultaneously, as if decreed by Fate, Joey and Pacey promptly entered his life, and stayed to help him build a world between them that felt truly special, saving them all. Building new visions for his best friends, including himself in it, ensured that he would never, ever, feel lonely again.

Pacey was wrong when he lay the building of that fantastic world at his feet alone – they created that world together, the three of them. For as much as they often alluded to him as the anchor in their cast-adrift lives, it was just as much the other way around. Those two balanced _him_. _They_ made his dreams real.

"Dawson! You got that flashlight?" Mitch called, from behind the Explorer, breaking into his thoughts.

"Yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking," Dawson answered, flipping the glove compartment door open, grabbing the large flashlight, and then slamming it shut again. Leaving the front seat, he went over to where Mitch stood, at the back of the Explorer. "By the way, can I have the car keys? I need to drive Joey home."

Mitch nodded, taking the flashlight and flipping it on, pointing it out into the darkness, the shadows scurrying from that sudden beam of light. Dropping the keys into Dawson's hand, he turned, whistling, to tend to his final preparatory tasks, as Dawson went back up the driveway to re-enter the house.

XXXXX

"So what's it going to be?" Dawson asked upon entrance into his bedroom. "Wanna stick around for a bit to say hi to my mom?"

"Is it okay if I don't? I'm really kind of tired," Joey responded, getting up from the bed, where she had been lounging, half-dozing already.

"Oh, okay. Sure," Dawson acquiesced. "Ready to go then?"

When Joey nodded, going over to a chair in the corner to get her jean jacket which was slung over its back, he added, "We're leaving at the crack of dawn, so you know, we could drop you off in the morning. Sure you don't want to stay the night?"

"Completely sure," she replied, shrugging into her jacket, flipping her long dark hair out from where it lay briefly trapped within the covering fabric, and then coming over to where Dawson stood in the doorway.

"So then, dinner, about nine, Friday night?"

"Of course," Joey replied. "I mean, I promised, right?"

"Right. And you always keep your promises."

Involuntarily, she cast her eyes downward, not meeting his, nodding her assent as she followed him out of his bedroom, down the stairs, and out of the Leery home.


	14. Stolen Moments: Chapter Fourteen

After having had a bed-partner for three nights in a row, Joey now lay in her own bed at the B & B, tossing and turning. Her body needed to regain its bearings in order to return to its former state of habitual solitary slumber. She was so tired – and had almost fallen asleep on Dawson's bed earlier but this current restlessness precluded her from easing into the sleep she yearned for. Joey's thoughts, clumsily colliding about in her mind, stilled long enough for only one to emerge, fixing on an earlier instance from that night. Her, poised at the top of the stairs at Dawson's house, wanting to tell him. Standing there, she thought, _I should tell him now, but if I do, he goes off on this camping trip, and Pacey and I spend the rest of this time together worrying about what he's thinking while he's away, instead of focusing on us_. That notion of "us" initiated yet another retreat from that impulse to tell, once more postponing the revelation. She would keep to the deadline she had already set for herself. Besides, this secret unfurling inside of her, this growing knowledge of something else that was happening between her and Pacey, was so precious. Joey just wanted to hold onto it longer, unsullied and without possible recrimination, for at least a few more days.

Her mind cast back to the beginning of the year, to that instance on the dock in front of the B & B, when she sat at the edge of it, gauche sexual advances rejected by Dawson, her heart broken, teetering over a painful, humiliating abyss. And Pacey, jaunty yet considerate, actually offering reassuring words based on his own recent heartbreak, providing a consoling arm and a shoulder to cry on. _Of all the people to see me like this, it had to be you_, she said, begrudging and sullen. _You know, it's a new year_, he had replied, teasing and wry. _Who knows? You and I might even become friends_. Soothed by this memory now, she closed her eyes, relaxing into the drifting state directly preceding a welcome slumber.

In that surreal space between fading wakefulness and claiming sleep, Joey heard Pacey's voice calling to her and she sighed, the sound of it, calming. But then, it grew more constant, too insistent, and, as in awake life, was not shutting up. Now, a strange, muted tapping accompanied it. Growing irritated, she thought, _Would that boy **ever** leave her in peace, even in sleep?_ A loud, precise knock on glass caused her eyes to fly open. Disoriented, she abruptly sat up in her bed, her heart bumping up against her chest, dragged, finally, from that hypnotic pull of deep slumber. Looking towards the bedroom window, in the direction of that abrupt, carrying sound, she went completely still at the sight that greeted her.

It was Pacey, standing outside, arms crossed over his chest, shivering in the late night Capeside cold.

Joey sat a few moments longer, just staring. He stared back at her, waiting. Then,

"Jo! Are you gonna let me in or what?" he asked, annoyed now, that voice only somewhat muted by the glass, and short expanse of room, between them.

Startled into action, she threw the bedcovers back and padded quickly over to the window to unfasten its locks and pull it open. Sliding the screen up, Joey moved back as Pacey entered the room, one leg at a time, his hands holding onto the window frame above, to steady himself. Once he was in, he turned to pull the screen and window back down, fastening its locks, tugging the curtains closed. Swiftly, he crossed the room, going over to the door to lock it. Coming back to Joey, he grabbed her, pulling her into his chilled body, one cold hand holding her face, his mouth descending to cover hers, his warm tongue a stark contrast to his cool lips, effectively sweeping her automatic protests away, transforming them instead into tiny soft moans. Afterwards, he pulled back and smiled.

"Hey," he said, his blue eyes sparking at her.

"Hey yourself, moron," she retorted, still reeling.

"Punchy, much?"

"Long day."

"Tell me about it," Pacey chuckled, concurring. With his other hand, he grasped one of hers and brought it up to his lips, turning it over to place a tender kiss on the back of it. "Better?"

Joey grinned at him then and he grinned back, before dropping her hand to bring both of his own up, cradling her face between them, leaning down to place a quick succession of tiny, closed-mouth kisses on her lips, murmuring his gleeful delight as he did so.

"Baby kisses," he explained, when she arched her brow at him, questioningly, afterwards.

She laughed softly, stepping back a little. Pacey automatically dropped his hands to his sides. Reaching over, Joey clasped one hand into hers, intertwining their fingers.

"I thought you said you could wait until tomorrow."

"I lied."

"How did you get here?"

"Will and the Wagoneer dropped me and my bike off a little ways down the road. I stashed it in the shed out back. Still got the key," he said, patting his jacket pocket with his free hand. "Dougie got called in suddenly for the late night shift. Won't be back until at least ten in the morning. "

"You sure it's okay that Will knows?"

"Absolutely. Don't worry, he can keep a secret," Pacey reassured her. "Especially mine."

"You have secrets, huh?" Joey inquired, sending him an arch look. "And what might those be?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he replied, smirking, bending forward to kiss the tip of her nose.

Joey found herself grinning like an idiot again. Turning, she led him back over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, then looked up at Pacey, who stayed standing before her, rooted to his spot, all of a sudden, sheepish. His eyes drifted down toward their joined hands and he squeezed her fingers, saying, "Um, should I grab your sleeping bag from your closet and stretch out down here?" indicating the spot right next to the bed, below it.

"No," Joey said simply, moving further onto the bed and pulling him after her.

One flimsy strap of her tank top slipped down and Pacey's eyes fixated on that bare shoulder as he followed her down to sitting, staying perched on the side of the bed. "You sure?" he asked, still somewhat uncertain. "I mean, I didn't come over here expecting anything, Jo. I just wanted to see you, that's all. I could even leave now, if you wanted me to."

"No, don't leave," she answered, re-adjusting that strap, then releasing Pacey's hand to pull up her light cotton pajama bottoms, which had slipped down a little. "And yes, I'm sure. I mean, we can just sleep, right?"

"Of course," he replied, bending down to remove his shoes and socks, then divesting himself of jacket and sweatshirt, until he was down to just sleeveless black wife-beater undershirt and gray sweatpants. Joey resettled herself against the pillows and after briefly hesitating, yet again, Pacey followed suit and then reached for her. At first, they were awkward as they shifted into and around each other. It was not as if she had never been in the same bed with Pacey. There were several times throughout their childhood that she, Pacey and Dawson had fallen asleep, haphazardly tumbled around each other on Dawson's bed, after all-night movie marathons. But she was not well-used to sharing a bed with _just_ Pacey, _alone_. That one night at Aunt Gwen's had been an exception, and they had been surrounded by their friends. And now, there were changed undercurrents thrumming between them.

"So what brings you here, at this time of the night, Mr. Witter?" Joey asked him, when they were finally settled comfortably – she, laying against him, tucked into the crook of his arm and he, sprawled on his back, chin resting on the top of her head. "Besides coming to see _me_, of course."

Pacey chuckled. "Honest truth?"

"Yeah."

"Payback."

Joey quirked a half-smile and snuggled into him further. He hugged her, tight, and then relaxed his hold again, so his embrace was light, his thumb brushing idly up and down her bare upper arm.

"So it wasn't just my beauteous charms that lured you?" she teased, her own thumb rubbing lazy circles on his shoulder, where her hand rested.

"Well, you're not ugly," Pacey observed, flippant.

"Why, thanks," Joey replied dryly. "Nice to know I've been upgraded from the 'the ugliest lass in the entire lower realms'," she added, quoting Pacey's description of her from the fourth grade.

"You had all of your hair cut off then because you had some silly idea that it would automatically turn you into a boy. You were an ugly boy, Jo. You were much prettier as a girl."

"You thought I was pretty back then? Wonder what you think of me now."

"Fishing for compliments, huh?"

Joey blushed. "Well, I'm not bad-looking, right?" Slight insecurity tinted her tone.

Shifting again, Pacey rolled to face her, propping himself on an elbow. "Joey you're fucking gorgeous," he said, his voice low, vibrant and sensual. She shivered. Out of all the voices of this boy – and there were many that she could pick out now, whereas before, she used to think it was just one, a sound that was like the screeching on a chalkboard, grating - _this_ voice was the most scintillating. Because it seemed as if was reserved only for her. It made her feel giddy.

"How do you do that?" she asked him, wondering. The palm of one hand alighted, soft, on his cheek.

"What?" he whispered, the timbre of his tone, soft and intimate.

"That..." she replied, breathless. "Make your voice so..."

"So…?" he prompted, teasing, the tell-tale smirk on his lips accompanied by a wicked gleam spilling out from his eyes and into hers.

"Sexy," she breathed, effectively wiping the smile off his face. Because right then, his lips had much better things to do.

Breaking that passionate kiss, several long moments later, Pacey moved slowly atop her, careful to stay alert to any shifts in Joey's demeanor or mood, nestling his hips between her thighs so his body was cradled between her bent knees. Sitting up, he quickly removed his black wife-beater and was surprised when Joey pulled her tank top off at the same time. He had not presumed that she would. He certainly did not _expect_ her to. Pausing, he looked into her eyes, vigilantly attentive. She stared right back and then reached for his hand and brought it up to one of her breasts, slipping her fingers down to lightly circle his wrist, holding him there. Dropping his gaze, he just stared at her beautiful bare breasts, shimmering in the moonlight. _Lord, Joey has some remarkable tits!_ he thought, a surge of lust coursing through him, powerful and aching.

Gentle, he cupped a soft mound, squeezing it lightly. Then, he brushed his thumb over its hard, rosy peak. Joey watched him, silent, her eyes endless dark pools in the half-light, her lips parted in nervous anticipation. The sight of his large hand on her breast, her delicate long fingers grasping his wrist just below, keeping him anchored, was an incredible turn-on. Moving his hand off to the side, Pacey shifted again to perch himself up on his knuckles and then, opening up his hands, he turned them upwards to slide both palms beneath Joey's shoulder blades, lowering himself onto her until they were pressed, bare torso to bare torso. She felt amazing beneath him, her skin so supple and warm, her nipples thrusting up taut against his own, heated skin, and those soft mounds crushed into his chest. Pacey burrowed his face into her hair, his open mouth fastening onto the sensitive skin just below her ear. Joey arched up into him, her arms encircling his shoulders. Pacey grasped her hair to pull her head back so he could move his lips to her throat. And then, he started to trail his lips downward.

"Pacey," she gasped out on a rising moan.

"Shhh," Pacey murmured, glancing up and placing his fingers onto her lips. "Jo, you have to be quiet." She nodded, looking down at him, at his lean body settled between her thighs, his broad, smooth chest resting on her tummy, his sweet boy face between her breasts, hovering just above those hard-peaked mounds, those deep blue eyes, black and intense in the moonlight. Her lips pursed, kissing her assent onto his fingers. A small smile cracked the corner of his lips, and then, he shifted, bringing those fingers and that hand back down to cup the side of one breast, his other hand palming Joey's back, lifting her as he bent his mouth to her nipple, at first to kiss it softly – a little baby kiss and then to take it into his mouth for a tender suckling.

He alternated between her two breasts, his hot tongue swirling and his teeth gently nibbling sensations so pleasurable, that at one point, Joey yelped with the intensity of it, all of her fingers digging hard through the short hair on the back of his head. Pacey immediately threw his hand over her mouth and went still, releasing her nipple to turn his head toward the bedroom doorway, listening hard for any sounds any murmured whispers, feet hitting the floorboards, or a tell-tale rustling from down the hall, or more dangerously, right on the other side of that closed locked door. But there was just silence, punctuated by their hushed, labored breathing.

"Shit," Pacey whispered, chuckling softly. "We'd better stop. You're kinda loud, Jo. You might wake the baby. " He extricated himself from her embrace and rolled onto his back beside her, lifting his eyes to stare up at the ceiling as he concentrated on returning his breathing closer to normal.

"You mean Bodie?" Joey modified, her own breath, still fast.

"Exactly," Pacey concurred, glancing over at her.

"Or Bessie?" she added, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

"Even _more_ exactly," he agreed, sitting up to grab for their hastily discarded clothing, which had been thrown to the foot of the bed. Handing Joey her tank top, Pacey quickly slipped his undershirt back on. When he looked over at Joey, she was covered again and re-adjusting the straps on her tank top so they would no longer be twisted at her shoulders. But she still looked so hot, all mussed up and sexily-bothered.

"I'm so hard right now," he announced quietly, smirking painfully. An automatic blush suffused her neck and cheeks, but Joey giggled at his slightly distressed expression. With a rueful chuckle, Pacey resettled himself next to her, close to her warm body, but not too close. "So tell me about this long day of yours," he prompted, clasping his hands together onto his chest, waiting.

So Joey started talking, telling him about Bodie's new promotion at that fancy restaurant in Boston, and Bessie's mixed reaction to it – the pay would be better but the hours spent away, even greater. About Alexander's first steps, apparently taken while they were off frolicking at Aunt Gwen's. About Dawson's anxiety over this father-son bonding trip and his philosophical musings over the changing dynamics of all their friendships. Sometime during the recounting, Joey rolled back into him, to rest her cheek on his chest, her arm stretching across his torso, lightly embracing him. Pacey slung one arm around her shoulders and then grasped her hand on his chest in his, linking and unlinking their fingers, then spreading them out, palm to palm, before interlacing the fingers again. He yawned and she yawned too, proving the adage that yawns are contagious.

Pacey was so tired, and it was pleasant, just lying here, listening to Joey, her nearness more warm-calming than heat-inciting. Maybe it was the looming presence of Bodie and Bessie just a few doors down the hallway. Possible imminent death upon potential discovery most definitely overrode teenage-boy hormones on this rare occasion. Or perhaps it was the soothing, moonshine half-darkness and the quiet lull of Joey's modulated voice relating details of her day to him, her body lying flush against his side, her shoulders nestled within the crook of his arm, his chin resting upon wavy chestnut-brown silk on top of her head, their fingers idly playing around each other on his chest. Oddly, he did not want anything more than this, right now.

"Okay, now tell me about _your_ day," Joey was saying, her voice tinged with an encroaching sleepiness.

"Will, Buzz and I worked on the _True Love_ all afternoon until late."

"How's it going? Will she be ready for Saturday?"

"I think so. As ready as she possibly can be, anyway." And then he proceeded to tell her of all the repairs, of the upgrades he could now incorporate, with Will here, of Buzz's enthusiasm and his own growing excitement because the boat looked like she might be sea-worthy soon, after all.

Joey smiled, remembering those nights throughout this past year, as she and Buzz diligently contributed to _True Love_'s resurrection, often working under a dark sky lit only by battery-powered lanterns, their muscles tired, all three usually grouchy and hungry, yet Pacey, single-minded and determined to keep going, to do just one more thing, so that he would finish what he started, despite the weary complaints of the other two. But afterwards, after dropping off Buzz at his house, sitting in the driveway of the B & B in the Witter Wagoneer, she and he would just sit and talk about their day, about the continuous cycle of repairs that needed to be made at the B & B, about the gradual mellowing of Buzz's smart-ass personality over the past month, about weird patrons at the video store during Pacey's sometime work shifts, about her increasing schoolwork as she aimed for more college scholarships.

Beneath it all, they maneuvered through the aftermath of their respective broken hearts, never alluding to those circumstances, but muddling through with an innate, unspoken acknowledgement that these were fragile times and this reworking, this refurbishing of that formerly wrecked boat was just part of a larger rescue for them – a teenage boy who had lost his love, a young girl who had lost her soul-mate. And yet, something else had been found amidst it all. Something unexpected.

Now finished with his retelling of prior events just past, Pacey sighed and shifted so that he was the one lying against her, his head resting against the base of her throat, one arm thrown across her chest, his other arm, beneath her shoulder, his hand flat between the back of her head and the pillow, inert fingers threaded through wavy strands. Adjusting so that he was pressed more comfortably against her, he slid his bent leg onto her thighs, tangling with her legs, not in an erotic way but more relaxed and cozy. Joey sighed too, the languorous weight of him half on her, half next to her making her feel warm and safe.

"Regarding the bookstore incident, are we all paid back now?" Leisurely, Joey moved her left hand through Pacey's hair, fluffing out the thickness at the top of his head, running her fingers through the cropped softness along the back of it, then moving to aimlessly caress around his ear.

He chuckled. "Sure…for now."

"You know, I think I'm starting to like this kind of payback. Enjoy it, even."

"Me too. Most definitely."

"At the risk of veering into risky territory, you never _did _answer my question before – the one in the bookstore? About favorite positions?" Pacey chuckled again and Joey felt it vibrate through his body, so intimately pressed to hers, his amusement seeped into her senses, making her smile. "What are you thinking, Pace?" she asked, aiming that usual question back at him this time.

Pacey snuggled into her even more, his arms wrapping himself closer, the fingers of his left hand interweaving with the fingers of her right one lying idle at her side.

"I like this position best."

Joey's lips, resting at the top of his head, bent up into a grin. Pacey felt it and pressed a chaste kiss onto her exposed collarbone in response. Then, he let his eyes flutter shut, his own pleased smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Joey dropped a sleepy kiss onto his head, closing her eyes. They drifted off into sleep together, entangled and content.


	15. Stolen Moments: Chapter Fifteen

**WEDNESDAY**

"God-fucking-dammit!"

Pacey was having a bad day.

"Uh…need a hand there, Pace?" Will eyed his friend, wary, as Buzz looked on, perplexed. They were two hours into this Wednesday boat-resurrecting session and Pacey had been leaning over the stern, working at attaching the nameplate of the _True Love_, for a better part of half-an-hour.

Pacey shook his head, absently plopping down onto a creaky wooden box he had warned the others not to sit on just one hour earlier. It promptly crumpled beneath his weight, splintering into pieces onto the deck.

"Fuck!"

"Wow! He's really pissy today," Buzz observed to Will.

"Don't start, Buzz," Pacey growled from where he sat, splayed.

Gingerly tossing away broken wood from beneath him, he shoved at pieces with his sneaker-clad foot as he came back up to standing. Pacey reached down behind him to pick tiny splinters from the seat of his jeans, expelling an exasperated, weary sigh.

Coming over, Will asked, "What's up, Pace?" his expression, watchful.

Pacey glanced over Will's shoulder at Buzz, fixedly polishing the steering apparatus at the helm with a soft fleecy rag. Though usually loquacious and full of boundless smart-ass energy, even that little boy seemed cowed by Pacey's current dark temper.

At the top of this day, Pacey awoke late, blissfully wrapped around Joey, cocooned with her amidst the sheets in her bed. Caution submerged beneath a sleepy semi-consciousness, he initiated some amorous wake-up activity that was abruptly terminated when Bodie knocked at Joey's bedroom door upon hearing her cry out. At his worried query, she responded adequately enough to allay his concern, but Alexander's sudden wails from the bedroom just across the way kept Bodie there, in the hallway, holding the crying baby and passing by Joey's bedroom doorway. Back and forth. Over and over again.

Then, to Pacey's chagrin, a blurry shadow appeared on the other side of Joey's bedroom window curtains and Bessie's voice yelled "Get up already, damn sleepyhead!" confirming that she was choosing this morning, of all mornings, to do bush-pruning and window-washing on that side of the house. Joey yelled back, "I'm tired! Leave me alone!" while Pacey lay sprawled on top of her, mindfully trying to work out different scenarios for a quick escape, even though his body was perfectly happy to stay right where it was, covering Joey's warm form beneath that soft, feather-down comforter.

Trapped and hyper-aware of possible discovery, the continuation of their impromptu make-out session lost its preliminary allure. Morning breath prevented excessive mouth-to-mouth action, so that potentially silencing strategy was not an option. And every single sound from beyond the door and on the other side of the window had kept them too jittery to fully enjoy what they _were_ able to do.

So they lay in a silent holding pattern, their cheeks pressed together, whispering furtive conversation into each other's ears. It was a good while before Bessie moved away from the window to re-enter the house. When they heard her voice on the other side of the bedroom door, clear and carrying over Alex's post-cry hiccups, Pacey flung back the covers, disentangling himself from Joey to slide out of her bed. Snatching up his clothes from the floor, he quickly donned his sweatpants and sweatshirt, slipping on his shoes sans socks – sitting down briefly to tie the laces, fast, before he hopped up to walk swiftly over to the window.

Joey switched on the clock-radio, turning up its volume. Thankfully tuned to morning talk radio, a cacophony of voices filled the room as cover for the stealthy retreat. Jumping out of bed after him, she had grabbed his coat from a chair, shoving it at him as he straddled the window sill – half-in and half-out. Pacey took it from her and then paused to wrap a hand around the back of her neck to pull her face down to his for a quick, closed-mouth kiss goodbye. Then he lurched out of the window to hurry around the corner of the house, toward the far end of the yard where the shed – and his bike – were stashed.

That was the last time his day was good.

He arrived at Doug's apartment, twenty minutes after ten, having pedaled furiously all the way from the B & B. Adrenaline pumping, sweat pouring from his brow after such a mad-dash trip, he flung himself off his bike once he hit the driveway of the complex, walking it straight to the front door. Right up to his father, leaning heavily against Doug, at the threshold of it. Pacey stopped short and stared, Doug's unexpected late-night shift suddenly making complete and utter sense.

"Well look at this! Been out all night son? Were you at your little girlfriend's house? What's her name? Andie?" His voice was slurred, his bloodshot eyes glinting, malevolent in the bright morning sunshine. Not hung-over, he was still drunk.

"Hey Pop," Pacey said, his tone neutral. "Doug." Over Doug's shoulder, Pacey saw Will hovering just inside the doorway, his eyes full of empathy. Nodding a terse greeting, he was answered in kind.

"Pace," Doug responded, also neutral, but his gaze held a question mixed in with slight reprimand.

"How is that Andie-girl? I really like her, y'know?" John Witter continued, his voice bordering on jaunty-loud, the sound rubbing itself abrasive against Pacey's ears.

"We broke up a while ago, Pop," Pacey replied, quietly matter-of-fact. "A long time ago, actually."

"Broke up? Did I know that?" John Witter clapped Doug hard on the back then – so hard, his older son winced. "What did you do, son? After all of that work, you couldn't manage to keep a good girl happy, huh?"

Pacey clenched the handlebars of his bike, hard, as if the rubber could absorb the automatic anger rising right out through his fingertips and palms.

"Pop, let's get you home, shall we? Mom's probably worried," Doug had interspersed smoothly, clutching at their father and pulling him out of the doorway to walk him to the squad car parked at the curb. "Pacey – we'll talk later."

"Well, you gotta give the gal credit for trying. You're just not meant for a thoroughbred like that one, Pacey. Sooner you quit over-reaching, the better you'll be at handling the disappointment of spectacular failure. It'll save you heartache in the long run, son, believe me."

Doug practically dragged their father to the car. "He's talking crazy, Pace. Don't listen to him," he called back to him, opening the passenger side door and bending his father into the front seat, careful to keep his palm flat on the top of his balding head so as to keep it from bumping the roof. Circling around to the other side, Doug quickly started the car and drove off, without a backward glance. Pacey turned around to find Will standing in the doorway, watching him carefully.

That same look perched, wary, on his friend's face now.

"Is this morning still bothering you?" Will continued, lowering his voice, cognizant of Buzz, several feet behind him.

"What say we blow this joint and partake in a little fun, for old time's sake," Pacey said, shrugging off the earlier question as well as that compassionate look.

"Pace-" Will began, still holding his ground.

"-Seriously, let's get outta here," Pacey interrupted, gazing over at Buzz again. Will paused before nodding his agreement. Craning his neck to peer over Will's shoulder, Pacey called out, "Hey squirt! Closing up shop. I'm taking you home."

"Awww, man," Buzz complained, turning now to face them. "Already? Can't I come with you guys?" he asked, hopeful.

"Sorry, kid. We're gonna go play with the big boys," Will said, strolling over to clap a comforting hand on Buzz's shoulder.

Less comforting was Pacey's continued taciturn mood.

XXXXX

When Joey awoke that morning, Pacey was spooning her from behind. Pressed back against him, she absorbed his delicious heat, half-drowsy, snuggled in that comforting warmth. Stirring, one of his hands roamed lazily perhaps consciously, perhaps not. Soon, however, his hand was moving more intently, slipping beneath her tank top to cup her breast. Before long, Joey was flipped onto her back and Pacey was coming over her, his lips quirked into a sleepy smile, his eyes heavy-lidded, desiring. Pushing up the flimsy material, he bent his mouth to her nipples to continue what he had started the night before. And, as she had then, she cried out, mindless, when the pleasure became too heady to bear. But this time, Bodie was right on the other side of the bedroom door.

Caught, they frantically clutched each other, wide-eyed, instant fear spearing them both. Luckily, Joey stayed sure detection, answering Bodie's, "You okay, Jo?" with a quick-thinking, "Uh…yeah. I just realized I need to get some more stuff for that damned history assignment! That paper's gonna kill me!" Successfully fending off Bodie, they thought they were home free, but then Alexander promptly fulfilled Murphy's Law, his wailing cries keeping Bodie right on the other side of that door.

And then Bessie was at her bedroom window, and Joey silently cursed the Fates for conspiring to make her older sister and unofficial-brother-in-law unorthodox morning homebodies. Ordinarily, they were out of the house by 7am. Both punctual early birds, they had discussed late into the night before, the numerous errands they had yet to run that day. But a glance at the morning clock-radio proclaimed 9:30am, perilously close to the Dougie-deadline hour of 10am.

So she and Pacey kept still and, for the most part, silent, hoping that Bodie could not hear beneath Alex's cries their whispered teasing about morning breath and death-by-enforced-bedcover-smothering, praying that Bessie would not be able to distinguish through the thin window curtains that the lump under those bed covers was extraordinarily high and bulky this morning. When the opening finally came, too long in the waiting, they rushed Pacey from her room, hastily dressed and launched swiftly out of the window, with time only for a hurried, sealed lip kiss before he was quickly gone from her.

Several hours had transpired since those waking moments, allowing Joey plenty of time to consider what had occurred. Pacey had spent the night. In her bed. She did not know how to feel about it. Having slept next to Dawson for years, sharing a bed with a boy really should not have been so discomfiting. _Shared_? More like melded together as if fused by blue-flamed fire. Nevertheless, lying next to Pacey, being held by him, had been comfortable and nice. She felt safe in his arms. Then why did she now feel so _exposed_? And it was not as if she had never fooled around with a boy either – especially when she was with Dawson, and certainly when she was with Jack, briefly, and then A. J. But this was different. This was _Pacey_.

Restive feelings continued to agitate her throughout the afternoon, troubling her while strolling through the mall in Southport, accompanied by Jen, Jack, and Andie.

When the call came from Grams' house announcing that the trio was going to head out for an afternoon shopping jaunt – presumably to keep Andie's anxiety over her still-unfinished essay at bay Joey jumped at the chance to while away the afternoon hours before six o'clock with some distracting company. Six o'clock was when she would meet up with Pacey again. After successfully making a case to Bessie (she would buy some B & B necessities, only available in Southport), she added herself to the car-party that embarked just after lunchtime.

Now she was in Victoria's Secret with Jen, sorting through seamless cotton bikini briefs in pretty pastel colors spread out on a low, wide table. These were Jen's preferred brand of underclothing. The McPhees had gone to the Food Court, where Jack could indulge his craving for an extra-large soft pretzel with crystal-salt and mustard while Andie slaked her thirst with a jumbo Diet Coke.

"So what's up, Joey?" Jen asked now, her eyes flicking, cursory, over the array of colors and styles beneath her.

"Nothing much," Joey replied, studiously nonchalant.

Jen lifted her head briefly to throw her a glance. "The jaunt to Aunt Gwen's was uneventful, huh?"

"Pretty much," Joey responded, dismissive. But she kept her eyes fixed on the table below her, away from Jen's gaze, turned gently probing. "Though Andie and Will seemed to hit it off well."

"Noticed that," Jen said, dropping her attention to fingering the panties in front of her, trying to decide between pale blue and sea-green for final inclusion into her "Buy-Two-Get-One-Free" collection. "Though I haven't met the guy yet. Heard all about him though. By the way, how goes it with your history essay?"

"It's not," Joey answered, shrugging. "Going, that is. Well, not yet."

"Other, more _uneventful_ things on your mind?" Jen's eyes caught hers up again, teasing.

Joey blushed before she could help herself and Jen smiled, sympathetic. "Don't be embarrassed, Joey. Just know you can talk to me about whatever you want. Whenever you want," she added, with emphasis. "In any case, we should grab a few of those Victoria Secret catalogs from the front before we go, for the guys. Even _Jack_ appreciates the aesthetics in that bare-almost-all bible."

Looking around at all of the wall-sized posters of super-models in skimpy lingerie adorning the walls of the store, Joey commented, "It's funny, the way a boy's mind works."

"Not to mention a boy's heart. But that's another matter entirely. There's a quote from this movie I just watched – Oh!" Jen stopped to pull out a lingerie set draped onto a padded hanger from one of the racks. Holding red silk bikini brief panties, complete with a sexy but elegant matching bra, up to the light, she _ahhed _at its shimmering jeweled softness. "Joey, you have _got_ to get these!"

"What?" Joey responded, incredulous. "That is _so_ not me!"

"Not you, _clothed_," Jen pointed out, logical. "C'mon! My treat!"

"You're buying me _underwear_, Jen?"

"Look – I never got you a birthday present for your sweet sixteen – were we even talking then? – and my parents gave me extra money this month to buy something nice. So I'm transforming it into a good deed. Think of this as a present to a fellow female warrior as armor for the ongoing battles of 'womanhood'."

"Jen-"

"I'm buying them." Jen abruptly turned, marching over to the register with the red silk lingerie set as well as an armful of more mundane underwear selections. Joey stayed rooted, only half-believing Jen would actually buy them. "Don't worry. I asked for a plain brown paper bag," Jen told her, coming back and holding out the purchase made.

"Jen, I can't accept that," Joey said, backing away from the bag as if it held a ticking time-bomb. "You should return it."

"What say I hold on to it for a bit until you change your mind? Remember – it's a _gift_, Joey. And I'm not making any assumptions or urging any particulars. This should be for _you_. Every girl should own some sexy lingerie. Of that, I am a staunch believer."

"You'll return them."

"We'll see."

XXXXX

When they rejoined Jack and Andie, that particular perky girl was enumerating the different arguments she had constructed for her Watergate essay that she must simply get home to soon, so that she could type them up into posterity. Jack shook his head, bemused.

"I'm _never_ gonna get an A on that paper," he said, half-amused, yet also half-resentful.

"Just watch the movie, like I did," Jen said blithely, going over to Jack to pat his shoulder, soothing.

"There's a movie?" Jack asked, hopeful.

"Yeah. Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman. **_All the President's Men_**. I borrowed it from Dawson," Jen informed him. "Did you know that the guy who wrote the screenplay for that movie also wrote **_The Princess Bride _**– the book _and_ the movie?"

"Really?" Jack asked, his interest genuinely piqued. "Still got the movie, Jen?"

"Come over for dinner later, dearest. Grams will pop the popcorn," Jen said, leading the four on a walk towards the mall exit. Jack pulled ahead to push at the glass doors, holding one open for his female companions to walk through, single-file. "She's rather fond of the sexy and tenacious Bobby Redford in this one," Jen continued. "I'm perversely attracted to the schleppy Dusty Hoffman, myself. But that's just me – always rooting for the oddball." Pausing, she slid a sly smile over her shoulder at Joey, bringing up the rear behind her.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt to watch a cinematic interpretation of those events," Andie said, thoughtful, leading them through the parking lot, searching for their car.

"Here's my favorite line from it – _'You got 'em by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow'_. Isn't that classic?" Jen pronounced gleefully. Then, she stopped, her eyes going round. "Ohhh! The hocksters are out in full force! Jackers! Eye candy alert!"

A fierce roller hockey game was flinging full-swing between two ragtag teams on the blacktop. In many New England towns, hockey was more than just a popular sport. It was a favorite pastime that rivaled that of baseball. Though its football team was less than stellar, Capeside High's hockey team was a full-blown contender most seasons, this last one, barely missing the regional finals. Their official season was during the winter, but in the springtime, most of the boys on that team, as well as several stars from other area schools, would gather at this abandoned asphalt parking lot adjacent to Southport's mall. The Lot, as it had come to be called, had evolved into an infamous yet highly-regarded spot to see the best young hockey players up and down the Cape. Bodie referred to it as their region's version of New York City's The Cage, boasting the best of hockey talent as opposed to playground basketball. No boy – or girl dared to step out on that asphalt tarmac without being able to bring the goods.

"Is that Will?" Andie asked, her mouth dropping open as she saw that familiar figure speed by, helmeted and dressed in an overlarge sweatshirt, sweatpants and both elbow and knee pads.

Joey snapped to attention. If Will was out there on the tarmac then that would mean—

"Go, Pace!" Jack was now yelling into his hands, cupped to add volume to his shout, as another familiar figure in a black-and-yellow jersey zoomed by, agile on his rollerblades and extraordinarily adept with his hockey stick.

Weaving deftly between defenders, Pacey split two, slapping the puck-ball into an overturned metal garbage can for a goal. It clanged with a forceful, carrying sound. Throwing his arms up, jubilant, he circled back around from behind the "net", gliding gracefully to the center of the makeshift rink for a good old-fashioned pile-on of teammates. Apparently, Pacey's shot ended this round of play, as the set of teams that "got next" had already taken to the rink to warm up for their own match to follow.

"Remind me again why Pacey doesn't play for the Capeside High varsity hockey team?"Andie questioned, her eyes glued to the jersey proclaiming WITTER in block letters on its back.

"Pacey and hockey? A most definite yes," Joey replied, her eyes also fastened onto Pacey, now skating backwards, laughing with jocular enthusiasm. "Pacey and school spirit? A resounding no."

"But he's so good! I mean, those other guys out there – some of them have hockey scholarships to college!"

"That's our Pace for ya – a contrary creature, indeed," Jen commented, surreptitiously observing Joey watching Pacey. "One _does_ have to admit, however, that our Pacey sure does dirty up well in that athletic gear. Out there, he starts to resemble a regular stick-wielding rink hottie."

"Hey! There will be no mention of stick-wielding around the eye-candy when the candy-man is around," Jack admonished in a faux severe tone.

"Oh Jackers! You made a gay joke! I'm so proud!" Jen said, clasping her hands together, gleeful, and smiling widely at him.

"Yeah, well, it gets easier and easier," he said, returning her smile, rueful, as Andie leaned into him, hugging him with deep affection.

"Will's pretty good too," Andie added then, watching him. Will skated over to Pacey, now seated on a bench, drinking a Gatorade.

"He plays for his varsity high school team. Those two used to come out here all of the time whenever Will came back out to Capeside," Joey said, filling them in.

"Let's go congratulate them," Jack said, immediately heading over to the two boys. The others had no choice but to trail after him. Pacey glanced up, startled by Jack's greeting, barely disguising his shocked surprise at seeing Joey there. He stood, and though he grinned, welcoming, its luminosity was dimmer than usual. Meanwhile, Will's eyes lit up at the sight of Andie, smiling at him.

Jack greeted the two with customary boy-jock back-slapping enthusiasm, while the girls all rolled their eyes at the orthodox manly display. After introducing Jen to Will, Andie said, gaily, "Thought you guys were working on the _True Love_ again today."

"We put in a pretty good day yesterday. Pacey thought we should come out here to see if we could get in on a match, just for old times' sake," Will explained, stealing a look over at his unusually saturnine hockey pal, who was busily packing away their outer gear and skates into a large duffel bag. Staying silent, he tossed their tightly re-capped drinks into a bulky side pocket before zipping it up deftly.

"You okay, Pace?" Andie asked, noting his oddly subdued manner.

"Just tired," Pacey sighed, running a hand through his sweaty-spiked hair.

Andie reached out automatically to rub a soothing hand on his other arm, her fingers coming down to clasp around his wrist, familiar and affectionate. Pacey smiled at her, rueful but warm. The natural exchange emerged from a long-ago, connective intimacy and did not escape notice from either Will or Joey. Both of their glances were drawn to Andie's hand encircling Pacey's wrist.

"We're going back to my house for dinner and a Watergate movie," Jen announced, catching Will's eye, heading off any underlying tension from encroaching further. "Wanna come?"

"Oh yes! Come with us, Will!" Andie added, letting go of Pacey's wrist and turning to smile wide at Will, her eyes sparking at him now, instead.

"I'm game," Will replied, mollified. "But I need to go back to Doug's to take a shower first."

"Nah – just take a shower over at my house and borrow some of Jack's stuff. He still has clothes over at Gram's house," Jen said, adding, "I think it's his way of marking territory – kind of like how dogs pee on trees and fire hydrants? Jack just leaves sweatpants and t-shirts."

"Lovely imagery, Jenny," Jack smirked.

Jen glanced over at Joey. "Hey Joey, you still need to get those things for Bess, right?"

"Uh…yeah," Joey replied.

"Then Will, hitch a ride back to Capeside with us and Pacey will take Joey to get that stuff," Jen instructed. "Andie here won't leave us in peace until she tackles that essay of hers. So while she's doing that, Will can get freshened up."

"Um…I'm sort of in need of a little cleansing myself, actually," Pacey said, straightening up from where he was bent over the duffel bag, turning to face them fully.

"Sorry – you're the B & B's sometime handyman, so this one falls under your jurisdiction," Jen said, turning Jack around by the shoulders to start marching him away. Her eyes tossed a veiled encouragement toward Joey, who was hovering, uncertain, next to where Pacey stood by the bench.

"Sounds like a fair exchange," Jack said, concurring, automatically taking the shopping bags Jen shoved into his hand, including her pink-and-white-striped Victoria's Secret bag and that plain, unmarked brown one.

"Personally, I think you guys get the better end of the bargain, but I guess I'll take one for the B & B team and put up with Joey solo for now," Pacey replied, inserting his standard sarcastic response into the fray of leave-takings and ignoring Joey's automatic eye-roll.

Lingering, Andie asked them, "You guys coming over to Jen's later?"

"Um…probably not," Pacey said. "I'll probably just crash when I get back."

"Uh…I've got to help Bessie around the B & B," Joey told her.

"Okee dokee. I'll see ya whenever then," Andie threw out with a cheerful grin, motioning Will to her side and following after her brother and Jen, already several paces away, now debating the merits between Diet and Regular Coke.

Turning slightly, Pacey glanced at Joey and gestured in the opposite direction. And thus, the Capeside gang parted ways, moving off to head toward different cars, the original quartet now reconstituted and the former hockey dynamic duo broken up, one-half of it re-merging into a tentative newfound couple instead.


	16. Stolen Moments: Chapter Sixteen

After his initial teasing in front of the others, Pacey did not venture forth with further substantive conversation, only murmuring directions to the car and then asking Joey where she needed to go for Bessie's things. During the short jaunt to a local specialty hardware store, they chatted in spurts, Pacey answering her tentative questions about Doug ("Yes, he was home. I'll probably get lectured later."), the day's work on the _True Love_ ("Buzz did a great job polishing the steering apparatus.") and how the hockey game went ("We won."). In turn, he asked Joey how she ended up in Southport that afternoon ("Jen called me and asked me to join them. On an impulse."), where she was at in her history assignment ("I haven't actually started it yet.") and if she bought anything interesting at the mall ("Nope, nothing," she replied, lowering her eyes, flushing at the memory of that red silk lingerie set currently in Jen's and Jack's possession).

They avoided discussion of the night before and steered clear of any mention of the morning spent in her bed. As they drove, silent, through the streets of Southport and then onto the expressway back toward Capeside, Joey focused on her fingernails short and neatattached to ten slender fingers on two slim hands lying listless in her lap. If this was going to happen every time they just _slept_ together, what would it be like if they ever actually had sex? A tiny quiver thrummed through her. She was considering _sex_. With _Pacey._ Now the question begged: Was Pacey considering sex with _her_?

Joey knew she was not the kind of girl that inspired overwhelming lust or uncontrollable passion in the male species. She was not at all like Eve, a swaggering sexpot if she ever saw one. The sight of Eve entangled with Dawson, half-undressed and perched, sensual and gyrating on his lap, on the Capeside High gymnasium stage during that pep rally at the beginning of the school year was still burned in her memory. Dawson's face dark with desire, touched by a strange, feverish passion, hovered there in her present musings. Watching her erstwhile soul-mate groping that blonde in full public view, uncaring of jaunty stares and enthusiastic cat-calls, had left her aghast and angry. She hated that blonde.

Unchecked, another memory also swooped in, right on its heels, this one from last year, when Pacey and Dawson had returned from an impromptu bar jaunt with Jen's ex-boyfriend from New York City, Billy. The jostling jokes about Dawson's brush with illicit activity extended for days – the incident serving as some kind of pre-ritual of manhood, a badge of sorts. Joey abhorred the locker-room brashness of it, bothered by the thought of Dawson almost succumbing to a more salacious side of his character. She had blamed Pacey for that potential downfall and she despised him for it, a long while afterwards.

Yet it had been equally, and surprisingly, vexing when she happened upon a whispered conversation between Pacey and Jen, soon after. That more knowing girl, armed with knowledge acquired from a deeply-impressed Billy, wheedled a laughing confession from him about a furtive embrace in the hallway near the ladies' bathroom with a local college blonde. It was information Pacey withheld from Dawson, apparently.

Joey remembered Pacey's tone, wickedly appreciative, expounding to Jen, with obvious relish, the feel of full breasts, curvy hips, and a rounded ass in his blissful, willing hands. And as Jen laughed along with him, connected by a common understanding of things Joey had yet to know, she felt the bottom of her stomach drop out, envious. Then, Pacey paused and told Jen that despite the much-appreciated grope-fest, what he remembered most was that she had this really great smile. His voice grew wistful and Jen grinned, called him "a softy," and bumped his shoulder playfully with hers. Joey hated that hallway blonde as well.

Remembering happens in striations that unaccountably meld into one another. Even if the memories are distinct and separate, the emotions they engender collapse into an amalgamated jumble of reaction and impulse, meanings vast and inextricable. Recalling Pacey's earlier easy intimacy with Andie when now, she and he seemed at strange cross-purposes, caused a dull throb to emerge, pushing up against her chest, constricting her throat. With a start, Joey realized that Pacey had not touched her at all this entire afternoon.

And all Joey could think about was the fact that Andie was a blonde. Come to think of it, Ms. Jacobs had been a blonde, too.

"So, Joey…" Pacey began, after one particularly long stretch of disquietude, during which both of them continued to shift unceasingly, despite the assuaging sounds of classic rock songs coming from the car radio. Pacey would _never_ let Joey turn that station dial to an alternative station.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you decide to postpone telling Dawson until Friday night?"

Joey swiveled to look at Pacey's profile. His jaw was set, his eyes focused forward at the road stretched out ahead of him.

"What?"

"I mean, you were there, in his room, hanging out, all afternoon and into the night. Was it really that difficult to bring up?"

Blindsided for she believed that topic had been mutually agreed upon as tabled to a future time Joey felt a niggling sense of apprehension growing.

"I almost told him. Right before we left his house."

"What stopped you?"

Her mind racing, Joey recalled snippets of her and Pacey's easygoing telephone conversation from the night before. "I didn't want ruin anything. Not yet."

Pacey grew pensive, mulling over her last two words. _Not yet_. When he spoke again, his tone was conversational. "You're letting go, you know. Losing control. Letting your guard down."

"What are you talking about, Pacey?" Joey asked, perplexed, scrambling.

"Your inhibitions. They've…loosened."

Joey blushed, recalling her voluble responses to Pacey's proficient caresses. When they were kids, Pacey would tease her all the time about sex because he knew it made her uncomfortable. An easy trigger, he had manipulated it well over the years. Dawson always rose to her defense, arguing for her peace. And if that did not work and it often did not Joey would resort to violence. Yes, violence served her well with Pacey. Her fist itched to let fly now, though it was probably not a good idea, seeing as he was presently operating a moving vehicle within which she was a captive passenger.

Feeling bereft of any ready outlets for logical aggression, Joey abruptly threw out, "What's your problem, Pace?

Pacey's jaw tightened. "Nothing," he mumbled. "I'm just tired, Jo,"

"Of me?"

"No," he said, his tone, tense. "Of course not,"

"Then what? What are we really talking about here?" Joey asked, flutters of panic, rising.

"What do you want me to say?" Pacey asked her, throwing her a brief wary glance.

Joey felt like crying. Ruthlessly, she shifted into a fine head of anger instead.

"I don't know! 'Hello, Jo, nice to see you. Sure was great sleeping in your bed last night. Don't think I'll be making it back there anytime soon, but gee, thanks for the memories'."

"Joey, don't-"

"-Don't what! Don't wonder why you've been so quiet? Don't wonder what the hell happened between this morning and now? Are you _trying_ to hurt me, Pacey?"

Pacey turned to look at her, startled. The car jerked abruptly, so he swiftly yanked his eyes back onto the road in front of him, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

"No. I wouldn't do that," Pacey said, adding quietly, almost to himself, "Not on purpose, anyway."

Joey fell silent again, her eyes drawn to the "Welcome to Capeside" sign beckoning from the side of the road. She thought she bought time last night, when she forestalled that telling, yet again. It was a choice, made in a moment. Thoughts of she and Pacey last night and this morning, clasped together, idyllic and harmonious, inserted themselves into her memory. It seemed like an eternity ago.

When other people were around, she and Pacey shifted into familiar adversarial roles, donning sarcastic armors easily slipped into after constant long-term use. The smart-ass Pacey, she knew well, and was rather adept – she thought in her dealings with him. Yet this Pacey was enigmatic, brooding, asking questions she thought were moot, telling her things that, frankly, frightened her. She thought she knew Pacey, in every way, having experienced his every mood and intention – ill or good – since she was five years old. Yet sixteen is a completely different era within a lifetime and Joey realized she was just beginning to know him in all the ways she never could have imagined. Not when she was five; not even when she was fifteen.

"Where are we going?" Joey asked, somewhat testily, as Pacey swerved into the parking lot of the Capeside Marina YMCA.

"I need to take a shower," was all he said, putting the Wagoneer into park. Facing her, he cracked a tentative smile and reached over to place his hand on her knee. "New rule no arguing when we're both tired and grouchy."

Joey looked down at his large hand clasping her knee – his first touch of the day since that morning and immediately, thoughts of those gentle caresses from before came to mind. Annoyed at the intrusive recollection, she turned her face completely away to look out the car window instead, blushing slightly with a lingering embarrassment. Pacey squeezed her knee and then leaned over to bump a hurried, awkward kiss behind Joey's ear, before drawing back to quickly unbuckle his seat belt. He got out of the car and, after a brief stop at the trunk to grab his duffel-bag, he went over to the passenger side to open the door.

As Pacey stood, quiet, holding that car door open, Joey paused there, vacillating. She could go home, if she wanted to. There was a bus on the corner of Main Street, just three blocks over, that would drop her off close enough to the B & B to walk back home. Pacey was acting so punchy, why stick around? She definitely thought she should go, her pragmatic pride warring with her more wayward senses. Problem was, Joey did not want to leave. _Not yet._

The moment hung, awaiting her decision. An instant passed. She chose to stay.

They walked slowly up the pathway toward a low, sprawling building, both mollified, but again not touching.

Family members of law enforcement and city employees got automatic complimentary YMCA privileges, and the Capeside Marina YMCA had been Pacey's personal bathroom away from home since childhood. He frequently used its showers, especially after grueling marathon hockey matches that left him sweaty-grimy, and usually preferred it to the Witter household, as it was often a much more welcoming place. It had been some time since he had last gone there – both his more comfortable stay at Doug's and a long absence from that make-shift hockey rink in Southport keeping him away – but Gertie, the middle-aged spinster and local manager of this particular branch location, glanced up from her customary absorbed preoccupation at the desk to greet Pacey with a fond, familiar smile. She added a saucy wink and a nod for Joey. Gertie had been there for as long as they could remember, ever since they were kids.

"What have we got here?" she inquired, raising one of her black brows, always a shocking contrast to the mop of curly still-red hair tumbling onto her sturdy shoulders. "The prodigal Pacey Witter returns! And Joey Potter! It's been ages!

"Hi Gertie," Joey greeted, sparing a small, crooked smile. "How's Johnny?" she added, inquiring after Gertie's twin brother, her management partner and a happily confirmed bachelor.

"He's very well and should be here shortly. Thanks for asking. Towels…," Gertie said, handing over two freshly laundered fluffy ones to Pacey, "…and locker key."

"Thanks, Gertie. You are, as always, a treasure," Pacey said, grinning sweetly at her.

Gertie smiled back, captivated. "And you, as always, are a charmer," she replied, chuckling.

Turning to Joey, Pacey asked, "Just wait right here, okay? I won't be long."

"Um…sure," she replied, ignoring Gertie's suddenly interested glance. Pacey nodded and then made his way over to the boy's locker-room.

"Pacey still helping you out with the repairs over at the B & B?" Gertie asked, though it was more a statement than a question.

"Yeah," Joey replied. "We just picked up some stuff from Southport."

"And Pacey couldn't resist The Lot, huh?" Gertie said, grinning.

Joey cracked her first real smile of that afternoon. "Nope. Never could."

They both chuckled and then that flash of previously piqued interest disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced as Gertie went back to her prior administrative tasks, settling into her usual front desk activity. Joey walked over to a bench against the wall in a corner and sat down. Pulling her feet up, she drew her knees into her chest, and hugged them there with binding arms. She rested her chin on the tops of her kneecaps and studied the different sportswear – on various folks – that passed her on the way out of the building.

It was obvious who came to the gym for working out on the equipment or in classes and who came for a checking-out-perusal among the dedicated gym-rats patronizing the place. Amused, yet also disdainful, Joey watched as a gaggle of about six Capeside High cheerleaders – all dressed in skimpy, low-cut tank tops and clingy spandex leggings – came strolling toward the exit, stopping at the front desk to inquire about new kickboxing class schedules from Gertie. Joey recognized some of them from the brief period of time that Jen had been one of their numbers.

Pacey emerged from the locker-room then, freshly showered and garbed now in jeans and a sweater. Jeans that hugged lean hips and long legs to great effect. A snug sweater that emphasized broad shoulders and capable muscles beneath. As was his habit, Pacey kept a fresh change of clothes in his duffel-bag, slung jauntily over one shoulder. His dark hair was still damp, curling a little, as it was wont to do when it was wet, and he exuded a relaxed, athletic air. A subdued swagger always seemed to accompany sporting indulgences, by male or female alike, as if the body itself, flushed with that recent exercise, automatically glows with an extra, magnetic vigor.

Pacey saw Joey sitting on the bench and started to make his way over, but one of the rah-rah gals detached herself from that gaggle and assertively stepped into his path, blocking him. He stopped in his tracks. The girl was smiling, flirtatious, extraordinarily buxom. And blonde. Joey sat up straighter as she watched Pacey glance down at the girl, a flash of warm appreciation automatic in his eyes, an unfiltered instant response to the bodacious view being tantalizingly offered.

Though Kristy Livingstone had graduated just the year before, the cheerleading squad had been re-stacked with a team of her clones. Since the Kristy-ideal of feminine hotness had been the preference of most local males since the emergence of their pubescent hormones, Joey knew this substitute for that long-gone golden goddess was perfectly poised to take up where that other girl had left off in the heated imaginings of many a Capeside High boy. And Pacey was not immune. He smiled, lazy and warm.

Joey felt a strange mixture of possessiveness and aggravation as she watched him, flirting easily. Though not exactly inviting this obvious advance – Good Lord! Was she _really_ pressed that close to his chest, or was it just a trick of the viewing angle? – he was not discouraging it, either. It was official – blondes were the bane of her existence. Except for Jen, Joey hated every single female blonde that had ever been born. She trained her gaze onto his face, glowering.

After a few surreptitious glances at her sullen expression, Pacey finally extricated himself from the clutches of the rather insistent lass and came over to stand before Joey. She raised both eyebrows at him. He merely grinned. "What?"

"Must you flirt with _everyone_?" The question tumbled out before she could stop it.

"For your information, _everyone_ was just _one_ and _she_ was flirting with _me,_" Pacey pointed out in an irritatingly logical tone. "You're just upset because you don't know the first thing about flirting. If you did, you'd know this was perfectly harmless."

"Harmless, huh?"

"Yup."

"So if I flirted with a boy right now, you wouldn't be bothered at all."

"No." Pacey's expression was entirely too self-satisfied.

"Not one bit?" Joey prodded, feeling a familiar bait beckoning.

"Nope. And you know why?" At Joey's expectant expression, he continued, smug. "'Cause Josephine Potter, you don't have it in you to flirt. It's just not your nature."

"Wanna bet?" she tossed out, taking that bait, her eyes narrowing.

"Double dare, winner gets twenty bucks," Pacey announced, reeling her in.

"You're on," Joey said, holding out her hand for him to assist her up off the bench. He took it and pulled her to standing. "Got the twenty?"

"Right here," Pacey said, taking out an Andrew Jackson bill and holding it up for Joey's perusal. But then, he added quickly, "I pick the guy."

"Wait, you didn't-"

"-You'd make it too easy if you pick him," Pacey interrupted. "You'd find some nerdy social outcast – much like yourself – to commiserate with and then call it flirting. No – this has to be a real challenge or all bets are off."

"But-"

"Nuh-uh-uh-" Pacey admonished, cutting her off and wagging a finger in her face. Swiftly glancing around the gym, he cast his eye over to the weight room section where all of the athletes and the jocks were hanging out, pumping their irons and preening over their muscles.

"Pacey, don't you dare-"

"Him," Pacey pronounced, pointing at an especially fit specimen that had just broken away from the pack, making his solitary way toward the drinking fountain, a short expanse away from where they were standing. It was Sterling Montgomery, the senior guard and captain of the Capeside High basketball team. Joey's heart sank down to her toes.

"I hate you," Joey gritted out.

Pacey just smirked at her. She was _really_ irritated with him now. Though recently, there were times when she looked at him and saw an emerging young man that could make her shiver with a sly glance, that with one small touch, would leave her melting, in this instant he was just another _guy_, reverting back to that smug pest she'd grown up hating. Joey wanted to knock the smirk so hard off his mug he'd be slack-jawed for the rest of his life. Barely suppressing her annoyance, she turned to assess the situation.

Sterling had stopped to chat briefly with another sturdy representation of Capeside High's athletic department – Tyler Kennerly, the shortstop of the baseball team – thus buying her a little more time. Thankfully, the cheerleader posse had already passed out through the exit (that forward blonde hussy tossing her a malevolent stare that Joey could not help but catch, feeling slightly triumphant about it). So any ensuing humiliation would only be witnessed by herself and Pacey. And Gertie. And several members of Capeside High's basketball and baseball teams.

Joey flashed back to Jen at Victoria's Secret, earlier that afternoon. The phrase _"a fellow female warrior armored for the ongoing battles of 'womankind'"_ resonated in her head. She would _not_ be humiliated. Taking a breath, Joey took the elastic band out of her long dark hair, releasing it from that restrictive ponytail, and shook out her silky tresses so that they fell around her shoulders and framed her face. Reaching into her back pocket, she extracted the stick of berry-red lip-gloss that Bessie insisted she carry with her and swiped a layer onto her lips, shimmering them with a delectable rosy glow. Finally, Joey pulled off her large, shapeless sweater, revealing her slender, lithe form beneath. A snug, almost flimsy tank top hugged firm, perky breasts and accentuated the elegant lines of her slim figure. She handed the sweater to Pacey quickly and then set out toward Sterling, free of his baseball friend and all alone at the drinking fountain.

She had just about reached him, her stride determined and her mind resolved, when a large barbell plate slipped off someone's rod and freakishly stayed upright, rolling right toward her. Dimly, she heard Pacey shout out her name in warning and, to avoid getting hit by the fast rolling disc, she jumped over it instead. Her toe caught the top of it and she started to stumble. Right into Sterling Montgomery's outstretched arms. He caught her up against him as she instinctually clutched at his firm shoulders and suddenly, Joey was pressed rather intimately up against a long, muscular body, her breasts crushed up against a solid, broad chest, the top of her head bumped up against a square-jawed chin.

Startled, Joey raised large, liquid-brown eyes up at him, surprise and a little bit of shock mirrored there. Her lips parted, slacking open. The thought crossed her mind that she must look like a gaping-mouth fish, staring up at Sterling, but the view from his end was decidedly more favorable, because Joey discovered that he was looking down at her in the same manner she had observed from Pacey, earlier, with the blonde.

"Well, hello there," he drawled, his voice lazy and warm, matching the light emanating from his rather remarkable gray-green eyes.

This was the part when Joey would usually shove him away, flinging in a few choice insults about man-handling and piece-of-meat-mauling for good measure. But she had a bet to win. And really, his nearness was quite intoxicating. Sterling Montgomery was very good-looking.

"Hi," she breathed, a little winded. And then, Joey smiled. It was a gorgeous, sultry smile.

Sterling grinned back and his arms tightened around her. And they stood there together for a very long while, just staring and smiling.

_"It's funny, the way a boy's mind works."_

Cat-calls and whistles erupted from the weight room section, breaking Joey out of her momentary reverie. She immediately turned her head to look behind her, swiftly bypassing Gertie's amused countenance, seeking out Pacey to note what kind of reaction her actions were engendering. He was gone. And her sweater was left there, lonely, on the bench.

_"Not to mention a boy's heart. But that's another matter entirely."_

Apologizing, Joey swiftly pushed herself away from Sterling, shrugging off his query for her phone number, and practically ran toward the exit, only stopping to snatch up her sweater, before barreling out the door, almost slamming into Johnny, Gertie's brother, entering the building.

"Whoa there, Joey!" he said, catching hold of her shoulders. "Be careful, sweetheart."

"Sorry, Johnny! I-did you see Pacey out here?" she asked him, her searching eyes finding neither hide nor hair of him anywhere in the vicinity.

"I think I saw him heading up to Bailey's Dock," Johnny replied.

And quick as that, Joey threw him a fast "thank you," then was hurrying away.

"The Potter girl and that Witter kid dating now?" Johnny asked his sister, ambling up to the front desk.

Her prior distractedness coalescing into a sudden focus on her brother's inquiry, Gertie shrugged. She paused, considering. "Who's to say? You never know these days." But then, after a thoughtful second, she smiled a little. "But I wouldn't be surprised."


	17. Stolen Moments: Chapter Seventeen

Pacey strode up the ramp leading toward Bailey's Dock. As soon as her head was clear of her sweater, which she had hastily slipped back on while half-running, half-walking after him, Joey called out his name, her tone urgent and exasperated. He did not answer, merely kept walking, so when she got close enough, Joey lunged for his arm, grabbing him to a stop.

"Pacey! What the hell is your _deal_?"

Pacey shook off her hand and glared at her. "Nothing!"

"Then what's the problem? It was a _dare_! And it was _your_ idea in the first place!"

"It was dumb idea, okay!" Pacey shouted at her, exasperated. Then he dropped his head a little, biting his lower lip. When he spoke again, his voice was less loud. "I need to get out of here, Joey."

Her chest heaving with a mixture of adrenaline, anxiety and annoyance, Joey exclaimed, "Pacey! You got on my case the other day for always running away and now _you're_ the one doing the running!"

Pacey plunged his hand into his front jeans pocket to pull out a dollar bill and some quarters. Stepping forward, he took Joey's hand to press the money into her palm, and then curled her fingers around it. "Here."

"What's this for?" Joey asked, looking down at the cash and change in her hand.

"The bus," Pacey replied, his tone, quiet. "I know you have to get back to the B & B, so just go on without me. I'll drop Bessie's stuff off later."

"Pacey? What's _wrong_?" Joey asked, her voice quavering slightly.

"Just _go_, okay?" Without another glance, Pacey turned and walked away.

Joey stood for some time, just staring after him. Then, she turned around and headed into the opposite direction toward the bus stop a few blocks away.

XXXXX

Pacey knew he was being an ass. He knew the moment he dropped Joey's sweater onto that bench and walked out of the YMCA that he was both a hypocrite and a jerk.

But when she took down her hair, swiped that gloss onto her lips, then lifted off her sweater, Pacey was the sorriest he had ever been in his life. Because Joey was stunning and sexy and he wanted her so bad in that split-second, he actually lifted his hand to grab her wrist to stop her from going. She just shoved her sweater into his outstretched fingers and strode off, resolute.

Then Pacey watched as she landed in Sterling's arms. As she took a swift instant to regain her bearings. As _the look_ sprang into Sterling's eyes. It was that heavy-lidded heated gaze that all males intuitively recognize because all of them are capable of giving it. And Pacey knew exactly what he was responding to. He knew in intimate and pleasurable detail what Sterling was coveting.

But he also knew Josephine Potter. Pacey _knew_ what her natural instincts were and just _knew_ she would push Sterling away as soon as he touched her, too familiar. So he stood poised, waiting for the inevitable to occur. It never happened. Instead, Joey looked directly into Sterling's eyes and gave him that gorgeous, sultry smile.

Right then, that morning re-emerged in his mind, so clear and sharp, he felt it cut right through him.

_You're just not meant for a thoroughbred like that one, Pacey. Sooner you quit over-reaching, the better you'll be at handling the disappointment of spectacular failure. It'll save you heartache in the long run, son, believe me._

Pacey realized that he had been testing her. Baiting each other into dares and double-dares throughout their childhood, they would always slug it out, whether literal or metaphorical, measure for measure, until a balance by default would occur. But things were different now.

As Joey stayed pressed up against Sterling Montgomery, the tall, handsome, intelligent scion of one of Capeside's finest families with a limitless Harvard-bound athletic and academic career awaiting him just around the corner, Pacey saw in that instant what Joey could have – _should_ have in her future. It was exactly what Andie would have someday soon.

And as that shared gaze continued a little longer than was comfortable Sterling, smiling lazy desire down at her; Joey, intuitively and unconsciously mirroring his regard Pacey had wanted to go over and grab her away from him, take her back like some toy he suddenly wanted because another person showed interest in it. But Joey was not a toy nor possession. He did not own her nor did he want to. _He_ was the one who had dared her to go over there. _He_ was the one who had been pushing her away all afternoon. Yet the possessiveness he suddenly felt in that instant scared him. So he left.

Pacey wasn't running away from her; he was running away from himself.

XXXXX

The Number 87 bus was running late. Again.

Joey groaned her impatience, burying her face into her knees. Sitting on the bus bench, her feet propped up and knees bent, she had been waiting for almost twenty minutes already. Not too many people were out and about. Late afternoon was shifting into early evening and the sun was obscured by swathes of cloudy-gray. Gathering moisture hung heavy in the air.

Sighing, Joey swung her legs over to sit up, her feet now placed upon the ground instead of the bench seat. Bessie was going to have a lot of questions. _Why are you getting back so late? Where's the stuff you said you'd pick up from Southport? Why is _**_Pacey_**_ dropping it off later? Who dropped _**_you_**_ off?_ Anticipating this barrage of questions from her older sister made Joey feel more edgy and unsettled than she already was. _Why do things have to be so difficult?_ she asked inwardly, yet again, for the upteenth time, _and were they ever really that simple?_

_When I think about you and me together, it's perfect._ Dawson told her once, as they afternoon-snuggled, casual, on her bed last year, during their first short-lived stint as a couple. _There's none of that pretentious getting-to-know-you crap. I already know everything there is to know about you. What you think, what you feel. _

_Really?_ she had asked, brows raised.

_Yeah._

_You think you know everything about me Dawson?_

_Joey we've spent most of our waking, and sleeping for that matter, moments together. Yes, I think it's fairly safe to say that I know everything there is to know about you._

_What you don't know about me, Dawson, could fill a book._

It turned out they had not really known much about each other at all. Too dependent on assumptions, grown rigid since childhood, it eventually tore she and Dawson apart. Those ubiquitous pseudo-intellectual talks and numerous overnights in the same bed, all the joint rituals and movie games, generated a false sense of shared sensibility. She was, by nature, more cynical than Dawson – at some point, Dawson veered resolutely toward the overly sentimental and naively optimistic, probably around the time he developed his cult-like worship of Steven Spielberg – but deep down inside, Joey wanted to be a dreamer too. So Dawson was perfect for her. Or so she had always believed.

_Dawson._ Though her thoughts brushed upon him now, it was Pacey who had brought him up first, earlier.

_Pacey._ It was difficult to stick to _any_ assumptions about Pacey. Joey's relations with Pacey subsisted on varying dynamics of action-versus-reaction rather than fixed notions of who each of them were. Yet for every smug insult, pesky prank, and derisive put-down that Pacey delivered to her over the years, Joey always had an oppositional memory to counter it.

_Could it be? Our Joey is finally noticing the opposite sex!_ Pacey proclaimed last year at _The Icehouse_, when it was still Potter-owned. _Shut up_, Joey had snapped at him, taking her eyes off Anderson, that good-looking yacht-boy, to glare murder at Pacey instead. _EXCUSE ME YOUNG MAN. THIS WOMAN HERE THINKS YOU'RE VERY ATTRACTIVE,_ he proceeded to shout, causing Joey to reach over and slap her hand over his mouth.

_You buttplug!_

_Forget it, Joey. Guys off yachts don't go for waitresses._

_I'm going to kill you. One night in your sleep, a slit throat maybe, or a screwdriver to your temple. Be ready._

Yet not too long after that, Joey found Pacey sitting on a bench at Bailey's Dock, forlorn and devastated because the entire school had discovered his illicit relationship with Ms. Jacobs.

_Hey, Jail bait._

_Feel free to keep on walking. I won't think you're rude._

But she had stayed and they sat there together instead, commiserating. For once, Joey's own sordid past had found a twin story to equal it, and she offered it up to him that day in solidarity.

_Great,_ he had sighed. _So, what do I do now?_

_Same thing I did... You pray like hell for a better story to come along._

During this empty time as she continued to wait for that damned bus, a torrent of memories now unleashed kept Joey's mind occupied, so she idly waded through several more. Later during that sophomore year, they went hunting for snails to make right a biology experiment gone awry, courtesy of yet another one of Pacey's lame-brained, erroneous speculations. Cagey partners in enforced circumstances, they were testy with each other that entire afternoon.

_Speaking of survival I thought all creatures of your brain power went extinct a few years back,_ she had snarked at him. _You know it's amazing,_ he responded, in turn, _A personality like yours and you still can't get any dates_, to which she retorted, _Even more amazing, a personality like yours, and you _**_can_**

Yet afterwards, they shared a sweet reprieve from their constant battling in the cab of his truck, when he said, _I was just thinking to myself that when you loosen up you're not half bad to be around...bordering on fun even._ And once they were back at the B & B, with him dressed in Bodie's borrowed clothes and her, spilling her anxieties of never getting out of Capeside – a rare dissembling – he told her, quiet and resolute, _I wouldn't bet against that Potter girl._

Joey supposed she had started to soften towards him around then, holding her tongue on a few more occasions than she ever had before, giving him the benefit of the doubt more often than not. The second half of sophomore year, she didn't see Pacey all that much – he was with Andie and spent all of his time with her; she and Dawson were trying to figure out their off-and-on romance so they settled into a sort of "live-and-let-live" limbo. And last summer before this, their junior year, she was working her butt off at odd jobs to help off-set their suddenly dire financial situation while Pacey had gone off with Will to backpack the Berkshires and then hang out in New Raleigh, to keep his mind off the fact that the girl he loved was locked up at a mental institution.

But then the school year started and this time, it was Pacey offering her solace at the end of a dock with his own story of heartbreak and reckoning. And his casual prophecy that they might even become friends did, in time, manifest itself after all. She even let Pacey goad her into playing hooky from her classes, for once in her life, only to be caught by Principal Green, of all people, by the side of the road as she attempted to thumb-hike a ride while Pacey dove for cover amidst the shrubbery. In the principal's office, they exchanged their usual nasty niceties.

_Where is your school spirit, Josephine?_

_I think I left it cowering in the bushes._

_Now that is a gross misconception. I hurled myself upon the flames of responsibility!_

_I hope a deer tick crawled in your ear and laid eggs!_

But her fellow combatant had his vulnerable side, as she had come to know, especially in light of this past year's events. Joey flashed now to Pacey, drunk and sprawled on the dock, after Andie handed him his heart back in a box full of scattered belongings. _Have you been drinking?_ she had asked him, her eyes narrowed, her attention, alert. _Only liquor, I promise_, he replied, slurred and jaunty. _What's wrong?_ she prodded. _Ah, it's nothing a little bonfire won't fix. You see, our friend Andie decided that she needed to cleanse me from her life to maintain her sanity. The casualties were the contents of this box. Behold…_

And then Pacey fell over his own feet, the box tumbling into the water, his face hitting the wooden planks below. _Unh! Oh, hello, Mr. Dock._ Joey had winced for him, in empathy, and crouched down to sitting as he flipped himself over, weary and defeated. _Hey, Jo..._, he said, his voice suddenly small. _Yeah?_ she asked, her own tone, soft and compassionate. He placed a beseeching hand on her knee, asking her, _Do me a favor. I probably shouldn't go home like this. You think you could call my dad and tell him I'm hanging here?_ She had placed her own hand on top of his a rare sympathetic gesture and replied, _Yeah_, before standing to step over him to walk into the office.

Pacey was such a contradiction. He could be terribly cocky, often thoughtless and even boorish, on occasion. And yet, he was also the most steadfast person she had ever known as well as a supportive and loyal friend. The way he stood by Jack last year when he finally came out of the closet, stayed firmly by Andie's and the McPhees' side as she unraveled, and then threw himself into assisting the Potters – and her – with the renovation of their home into a viable source of financial livelihood was something she had never envisioned as within Pacey's capacities nor interests. And yet, there it was. So they had become friends. And now, they had become more.

Earlier, at the YMCA, _dare_ writ on his face, his eyes, derisive and taunting, he was that pesky boy she had grown up with, the annoying gadfly she had always known. But last night, looking down at her, that same face bore a soft expression and a blue gaze full of wonder. That was a different boy altogether, just recently discovered. One she was still trying to puzzle through.

That soft expression had dogged her all day, diligent, ever since that morning. It had been the reason she had gone with Pacey in Southport, despite the inexplicable tension that had inserted itself between them. Why she had stayed with him when he went into the YMCA, even though their quick tussle in the car had left her out-of-sorts. Why she initially went after him when he left, thrusting aside the fact that he was being both unreasonable and stupid.

Why right now, as she continued to await that tardy bus, she found herself still conflicted about recent events, annoyed as hell with that boy yet inexplicably longing to kiss him again, too.

XXXXX

_After all of that work, you couldn't manage to keep a good girl happy, huh?_

Pacey walked past the fountain in the Marina plaza, where he had kissed Andie for the first time. The memory was a bittersweet one and strangely intrusive. Here he was, thinking of his ex-girlfriend while his current maybe-paramour was probably off stewing as a result of his own idiocy. For the life of him, he still could not understand why such amazing women found him attractive.

_Why do you like me?_ he had asked Andie once, after that school dance when he had stupidly let his hormones lead him into living out an ill-advised fantasy with Kristy Livingstone in the school hallway. He had denied every request for a dance by Andie, his date that night, and yet jumped at the chance to take Kristy into his arms, swaying her gently to the music. _What?_ Andie asked him, perplexed. _Why do you like me? I'm a screw up, Andie. I'm thoughtless. I'm insecure. And for the life of me, I cannot understand why a woman like you would bother to care about me._ But then she rattled off a list of things she loved about him and they danced, then bickered, and kissed.

As Pacey continued to walk along the pier, he mused further about that incident dancing and bickering and kissing that girl, right here, on this dock. He had loved Andie so much. She made him believe all the good things about him – that he was capable of good in the first place – and in doing so, he felt he could actually fight the good fights, make the wrong things right, possibly even change the world. Pacey felt like a different person with her. No, scratch that. He felt like a _changed_ person. Different would mean not the same or integrally himself. Andie had allowed him to be the person he always was, but was afraid to show outside of himself. Someone who wanted to make a difference. Someone who wanted to be needed.

But did he deserve this? To have people in his life that actually needed him? In the end, Pacey could not help Andie. When all was said and done, he just wasn't enough for her. And it had devastated him. As for Joey – she would never _need_ him. She was too feisty and strong-willed and independent to want to. And he was afraid to need _her_. Yet if they went any further now, if they followed this crazy, frenzied course they were currently on, their physical explorations leading inevitably to sex sometime down the road, Pacey did not know if he could survive yet another devastation. Because he knew what it felt like to love someone with your whole being, to sense the universe shifting and changing, transforming you and the world around you. Making it better. Making it whole and beautiful and perfect. He knew that feeling because he had felt it before.

_Because it changes everything._ In Andie's car, on a rainy day, Pacey poured his heart out to the first woman he ever loved. _Don't you see? Everything's always been so predictable for me. But now, my whole life's course is changing. Ever since you and I had sex, I've felt anxious, you know? Wondering should we have waited? Should we slow down? Wondering if it was the right thing to do. Wishing that I had taken the high road, and that's not me! You know? It used to be that the only comforting part about Pacey Witter is that I always knew what to expect and now I don't have a clue and I'm terrified. And that's why I was pulling away from you._ But Andie reassured him. _It's okay to be scared, Pacey. The world is a scary, scary place. But I don't want you to be scared of me._

_How can I not be, Andie? You're the one that's opening up this whole new life for me. I'm afraid that..._

_What?_

_I'm afraid because you're the single-most, important being to ever grace my existence. Andie, I am falling hopelessly in love with you._ And after a short silence, he continued, his heart lodged painful in his throat, _Say something because I did kind of just cut it open and lay it out for ya._

_Yeah, that was pretty scary._

_That's it? That's all you have to say?_

_No. I'll say that I share your fear._

_Yeah?_

_Your exact fear._

That fear was back. But this was different. This was _Joey_. What Pacey felt for Joey was all-encompassing. It reached far back to spaces only she could gain access to and pushed forward into places he was afraid to dream about. It was enormous. It could be _everything_.

XXXXX

Joey had never believed the whole fireworks in your head, weak knees notion of being kissed it was just lips meeting and mashing up against each other, tongues plunging to exchange moisture and heat. Whenever kisses – and sex – came up in their circle, she'd bat at the topic with caustic witticisms and wry asides. Jen notwithstanding, Pacey was the first of the virginal Capeside trio to venture forth into that mysterious physical frontier, and even had the unknowing audacity to get it documented on videotape.

_Uh, Dawson I think, uh, I think I should get to take a look at that tape,_ Pacey had said, somewhat nervous, after knocking over Joey's thankfully empty cup. They had all been gathered at _The Icehouse_ – she, Pacey, Dawson and Jen – discussing the discovery of that steamy videotape capturing Ms. Jacobs in extremely compromising positions, still unaware that Pacey was the consenting collaborator in said activities. _Sure, we'll arrange a private screening for you_, Dawson offered, wryly. _Yeah, so you can flag _**_the bishop_**_ in privacy_, Joey added, droll. _You know that's really clever how you turn all that sexual repression into humor_, Pacey bit out, darkly sarcastic. Later, when Dawson and Jen left them, Pacey called out, _Dawson, don't forget man, I want to see that tape._

_Pervert,_ she muttered in disgust.

_Prude,_ he replied, disdainful.

Running through her recollections of all the boys she had kissed, Joey mused now on the differing experiences each one engendered. When Anderson had kissed her that fall – her first-ever kiss it was precious and she felt giddy more because it was the act of a first kiss transpiring than the actual kiss itself. When Dawson kissed her, suddenly, in front of his bedroom window, she felt relief and wonderment something she had always dreamed about had finally come true. When they were together – both times there was an awkward sweetness to their physical interactions with each other. Both vastly inexperienced, they were often tentative and unsure, as if they were two kids play-acting their shared notion of romantic love. Jack well, he certainly knew how to kiss a girl, and hold her too. But she had noted a strange detachment in their embraces, as if he was a person with very good technique who knew exactly what to do, but found no excessive joy in doing it. Exploratory yet reserved; nice but comfortable. That reserve made more sense, later, when he came out of the closet. A. J. was certainly more experienced, but he held back with her, too cognizant of his being in college and her being in high school. He treated her gently, with pleasant warmth, and was always a perfect gentleman. Their dates were few and far between and they broke up before they could even begin to consider pushing their physicality to a higher level.

But then again, Joey was not the sort that liked being touched physically by anyone, especially boys. Well, except for Pacey. She and Pacey were used to touching each other raising hands to one another in violence over the years did much to erase boundaries of personal space and appropriate behavior between them. They were familiar with manhandling each other. A push here, a shove there. An elbow thrown, a kick delivered. A punch, a pinch, a smack, a slap. Yet there were other touches, too: their fingers brushing every time he handed a seatbelt to her from the backseat of a car; taking each other's hands in mutual conspiracy before a shared prank; his placing a hand on her knee, asking her for a favor while sprawled, drunk and heart-broken, and her covering it with her own; him, hugging her to his side and her, leaning into him, while she cried at the end of a dock. But these just seemed to be natural extensions of their constant physical tangling throughout the years.

So Joey had always figured that maybe she just was not inclined toward being "transported" by kisses and caresses and fondling embraces. She was too cynical, pragmatic, mind-focused. When she was with Dawson, they dissected every discovery, explicated every expression of affection, and analyzed every impulse. They were of a like mind in that respect. And it was fun a good-natured game, a comfortable and amiable undertaking.

The night she and Dawson sat in his rowboat, as they returned from a misbegotten fancy dinner at a French restaurant, emerged into her memory. Encountering the estranged Leerys on separate dates – Mitch with a fellow teacher and Gale with Jen – had put the kibosh on their plans for an intimate, romantic dinner. Afterwards, finally alone, Joey leaned back against Dawson and put her face up for his kiss. When he slid the shoulder of her cardigan down, she pulled away, smiling.

_Okay, confession time_, she had said, wry.

_Yeah..._Dawson chuckled, a little nervously.

_By any chance did you think that by planning this romantic dinner we would end up, uh...closing the deal?_

_Joey Potter! You vulgar little thing! I prefer the term consummating their ultimate desires._

_Oh...okay,_ she had laughed.

Disappointed, Dawson said, _I didn't know the notion was that proposterous._

She had kissed him then, comforting. _It's not. I thought about it, too._ Then, he whispered, _But the night is still young..._ And she whispered back, _So are we..._

Yet here she was, thinking about it again. With Pacey, not Dawson. She chuckled as another recollection assailed her. _Sorry, Dawson but he is just too repelling_, she had told Dawson, vehemently protesting the fact that she was required to kiss Pacey in his sea-creature horror movie. _Joey, you're going to have to kiss him_, Dawson had insisted. _I cannot and will not kiss that cretin_, she pronounced, with finality.

It's funny how one year can find you completely on the opposite end of a spectrum.

_One day you'll understand Joey. You'll know what it's like to long for someone, to desire to want to kiss them, and then you're going to come to me and say, "Dawson, you were right." See Joey, all you have to do is believe_, Dawson said to her once, emphatic and earnest. As she climbed out of his bedroom window, she stopped, saying, _Clap hard, Dawson. You may be Tinkerbell's last hope._

When it came to kisses, ironically, it was Pacey who first dared Joey to kiss Dawson, pushing her to go after what she wanted during detention one Saturday afternoon. Even then, he was the one that shoved her toward those things she was afraid to want, propelling her into action and refusing to take "no" for an answer.

_Dawson, you were right_, Joey thought, wistful. Because ever since Pacey first kissed her, taking her by surprise on the side of that road back to Capeside, she had been walking around in a perpetual state of longing for more of his kisses. Pacey's kisses were more than just fireworks and weak knees; they were crazy fluttering and incredible heat. Whenever they kissed, her senses were completely surrounded by him. Pacey was a whirlwind, a tempest that swept her up and kept her continuously off-balance, yearning for him, wanting him. _Needing_ him. His kisses ran the gamut from soft and tender to hard and passionate, teasing nibbles to deep, erotic entangling. Joey wanted to kiss him now, just to make these sudden niggling apprehensions disappear. To remember every single reason why she had stopped despising him so. But he was at Bailey's Dock. And she was sitting here, waiting for the Number 87 bus.

_You think that just because the two of you were together, what she did to you hurts more?_ Joey had asked him, just last fall, when an angry and stunned Pacey dropped her off at the B & B after finding out about Andie's infidelity. _It doesn't. There's no difference, Pacey. I mean, look, she's 16 years old, and so are you. We talk like we know what's going on, but we don't. We don't have any idea. We're really young, and we're gonna screw up a lot. We're going to keep changing our minds and sometimes even our hearts. And through all of that, the only thing we can offer each other is forgiveness. And I couldn't do that. At least I did it too late. Don't let yourself get so angry that you stop loving because one day you'll wake up from that anger, and the person you love will be gone._

Thinking about this now, Joey realized that loving someone is a choice, not just a romantic notion. But she did not want this choice – not right now. If there was one thing she had learned with any significance this past year, it was that she was still trying to learn what love was. And _how_ to love, regardless of _who_. Yet still, all choices are made in the smallest of moments. And every moment now was rushing by, faster and faster.

Joey sighed and stood up. The Number 87 bus had just pulled up to the corner.


	18. Stolen Moments: Chapter Eighteen

Pacey looked up at the fast-darkening sky. Sitting on a bench, resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward, hunching into himself. Through the growing chill, he could feel the underlying humidity that signaled torrents of water spoiling to be released from those shackling fluffy prisons above. He watched as a few wayward folks finished up their business, hastening to beat the certain rain. Those few trickled down to none by the time Gertie strolled by, on her way to her car. Johnny had the night shift at the YMCA and she was going home.

"You okay out here, Pacey?" she asked him, stopping briefly.

"Yeah," he replied, smiling a little. "I'm good."

"Might rain. You might want to get on home soon," Gertie informed him. "I assume Joey's already gone back to the B & B?"

"I think so," Pacey said, dropping his eyes and shrugging.

Gertie fixed him with a knowing stare. Reaching down, she squeezed his shoulder, reassuring. "You take care of yourself, Pacey. Don't get caught up in this storm all by yourself, okay?"

Pacey glanced back up and glimpsed a flash of deeper understanding lurking within Gertie's friendly, concerned gaze. He cracked another small smile and nodded. "Thanks, Gertie."

"I'll see ya around," she said then, grinning her farewell.

After Gertie left, Pacey returned his gaze downwards toward the wooden planks below his feet. When he got back to the apartment later, Doug was sure to ask him several questions about his apparent night spent away from his couch. He would have to make up something about having to go over to the B & B early that morning – perhaps to have a look at the furnace again? -- and then hope Doug would never have occasion to bump into Bessie to ask about it. That bullet, he could probably dodge fairly easily.

But then there was that other one. He had sent Joey off with bus money and nary a backward glance after walking out on her at the YMCA. Any ill will or residue hostility on her part would be completely and entirely warranted. Though he knew he deserved her rancor, he was not looking forward to facing it. Yet Pacey still needed to stop by the B & B with those things from Southport. Staying for dinner was probably no longer an option, and though he would sorely miss the opportunity to enjoy Bodie's cooking, it was for the best. Doug would be expecting him home, awaiting answers to particular questions and the sooner that was resolved – even if it took a well-meaning fabrication to do so – the better. And Joey deserved to have a go at him for his asinine behavior earlier.

Sighing, Pacey buried his face into his hands and sat there for just a few minutes longer.

"No loitering, Pacey."

Startled, Pacey's head jerked up to find Joey standing a few feet away, her arms wrapped around herself, warding off the encroaching chill. She quirked a half-smile at him and a reluctant half-smirk pulled at the corner of Pacey's lips in return, acknowledging the common mutual memory, when he had showed up at the docks so many months ago, drunk and maudlin over Andie, clanging the service bell at Joey's then-job.

"I was going to take the Number 87 bus back to the B & B," Joey told him, conversational, as she slowly approached him. "I was sitting there, on that bus bench, waiting forever, intending to get as far away from here as possible. Because Pacey Witter, you were a complete asshole back there, and you know it."

She stopped, standing directly in front of him. Pacey settled a wary look upon her.

"But then I thought: 'Nope, he's not getting off that easy.' You owe me an explanation, Pace. The other day, you said all I needed to do was talk to you. So here I am, talking. The least you could do is talk to me too."

"I don't know what to say," Pacey said, truly at a loss.

"Well, what are you _thinking_, Pacey?" Joey asked then, in a careful but encouraging tone.

Pacey pulled his gaze from hers and turned to look out at the waters, at the sailboats coming in for the evening, the twilight descending, signaling them all home. In a quiet voice, he told her, "My dad was at Dougie's this morning. Drunk. Spewing the usual fiery-truth-and-brimstone."

"You mean bullshit-and-brimstone," Joey corrected, familiar with John Witter's penchant for unnecessary – and usually erroneous – blistering tirades visited frequently upon the younger Witter son. His moodiness from before made better sense to her and she felt a tiny sense of relief. She could handle _this_.

"Maybe," Pacey concurred. He looked back down at his feet. "Maybe not."

"Pacey, whatever your dad said, it's not true," Joey told him, insistent.

"And there's still the issue of Dawson," Pacey added quietly. "You don't seem to want to address that one any time soon."

Pacey had her there. _That_ was another matter, entirely. And now Joey was the one that did not know what to say. She did not know why it was such a difficult issue for her to address. Moments are just instants, yet lately, each one contained a choice that seemed poised to change a lifetime. Though she had shared her lifetime up until this point with both of these boys -- Dawson _and _Pacey -- she instinctively knew that a choice like this would change everything. Joey had had enough lifetimes evolve, then become destroyed, in her admittedly short existence on this earth and she was tired. She was weary of the sudden upheavals and the violent shifts and the brokenness of hearts. She wanted comfort and safety and something real. Even if it was just for a little while.

"Pacey, I know we keep going around and around on that subject and I'm sorry. I really am," Joey told him, saying whatever was coming to mind, pushing past any usual obstructing filters. "I don't know why it's so hard. It just is. I can't tell you why – I don't really know why, myself – but know that I _do_ want to tell him. I just…I don't want to _right now_. I'm still trying to figure out where we're going, you know?"

"Putting it off isn't going to solve anything."

"No, but it buys us time, Pace."

Pacey stayed silent, nibbling at his inner cheek – a symptom of anxious thinking on his part that Joey recognized immediately -- and then said, unnaturally calm, "Maybe we should just stop before we progress any further. You know, implement preventative measures to head off certain heartache." He paused again, before adding, "We've seen enough of that, haven't we, this past year?"

_Not yet!_ her mind screamed as she stared down at Pacey's face, so tense and shuttered. Joey bore no illusions. Though she yearned for them, she was afraid of dreams because they had so often turned out false, after cruelly beckoning with counterfeit promises. But something kept her here -- something she did not understand nor could fight nor ever deny, though its definition still continued to elude her. Even if it turned out to be fleeting, she wanted this thing with Pacey -- whatever it was -- to be real _right now_. She _needed_ it to be. She needed _him_.

"Yes, we could do that," Joey said, in small, yet steady tone. "And I can go right now, if you want me to, Pacey. But I'd prefer it if you'd ask me to stay." Pacey dropped his eyes from hers, heavy lids and long lashes shielding his thoughts. All of the tension in the world seemed to congeal there in that taut seated figure. "Please?" she added, her voice quietly supplicating.

That soft plea fractured something inside of him. A tiny crack, it spread outward fast. Yet Pacey did not move nor raise his eyes. Joey's gaze stayed rooted there – to his downcast eyes, his immobile face – and though somewhat fearful of staying, her pride screaming _"bloody murder!"_ even now, she was actually more afraid of leaving. Another long moment passed and Joey let out a breaking sigh, dropping her eyes finally, starting to turn away. At that instant, Pacey reached out and took her wrist into a gentle hold, staying her. As she stepped closer to him, he bowed his head into her stomach, his other hand coming up to rest at her hip, pulling her in. Joey brought her hands up to settle into his hair, tender and consoling. Pacey wrapped his arms around her waist, holding onto her.

Then, he stood, swift, and just like that, she was in his arms and his face was burrowed into her neck, traces of a salty wetness brushing against her skin. She clutched at him and he clutched at her, desperate.

And finally, he was kissing her.

Joey whimpered as she opened her mouth for him, taking his tongue deep and sliding her own around it. Dimly, at the back of her mind, she realized Pacey had not actually asked her to stay.

He did not have to.

XXXXX

"Pace?" Joey asked, as she focused on keeping the wooden plank before her straight.

"Yeah?" Pacey responded, concentrating on placing the screw notches beneath him correctly.

"You still owe me twenty dollars."

Pacey snorted, made the necessary pencil markings, and then grabbed his drill. Leaning over the side of the _True Love_, he motioned Joey away as he created the proper holes and inserted the binding screws. Then, he gestured for Joey to come close again.

"I'd have to give that barbell an assist, in this particular situation," he finally answered as Joey leaned forward again to attach the nameplate.

"Perhaps. But the smile was all mine," she countered, adjusting the plank so that it was secured firmly upon the boat's outer wall.

"Yes. It most certainly was," Pacey agreed, in the same admiring tone she had heard him use for that hallway co-ed blonde during his conversation with Jen, last year. Joey's pulse skipped, gratified.

"So I won," Joey pronounced. "And your boat now officially bears a name!" she added, sitting back onto her heels, satisfied, her hands resting on her thighs. She lifted her face to smile up at Pacey, crouched on the deck above. He smiled back at her, bounced up to his feet, and quickly alighted from the boat. Coming to stand over her, he reached down one hand to pull her up, and after a quick glance around to ensure no one was in the vicinity, he bent to drop a kiss on Joey's forehead before quickly stepping back again.

"I'll give you ten bucks for the fantastic finish."

"No fair!" Joey protested, slapping at his shoulder. "It was a double dare! And Sterling _did_ ask for my number right after, but I was too busy chasing after _you_ to give it to him."

"Yeah, whatever," Pacey said, laughing, rubbing his shoulder and then capturing her hand into his to squeeze it affectionately. "Okay – one-half now and the other half later, pending further review."

Lifting her hand, Pacey pressed a kiss onto the back of it and then let go to take out a twenty-dollar bill. Tearing it in half, Pacey handed one side to her. The other, he pocketed.

"You're kidding, right? That was a twenty dollar bill!"

Pacey merely shrugged and grinned. Joey raised both brows, half-smirking, then moved off a little ways toward a nearby railing. Placing her crossed elbows onto it, she leaned forward to look down at the dark undulating waters. It was just past six o'clock and though the springtime usually brought longer daylight hours, the thick, gathered clouds above imbued deeper shadows all around. Pacey scanned the Marina again and realized no one was actually here, most folks probably ensconced in their homes or someplace else equally warm and sheltering, while he stood alone at the cold docks with this girl, under skies threatening to unleash their heavy moisture onto them at any second. Pacey walked over to Joey and placed his arms on either side of her, resting his chin on her shoulder, burrowing his lips close to her ear. She nestled back with a sigh, so he stepped closer and slid his arms around her crossed ones in response, cradling her against him. Quiet, they enjoyed the stillness, together. Then,

"Want to earn back Andrew Jackson's better half?" Pacey asked, his voice low in her ear.

"What do you have in mind?" Joey replied, slightly wary.

"Let's dance."

"What?"

"C'mon! It'll be fun!"

Ms. Penny Pretty's crisp, autocratic voice barreled from the past and into the present, sudden and clear. At their orientation session for their brief stint at the Starlight Dance Studio last winter, that no-nonsense tone had set out firm instructions. _In basic ballroom dance, the man is supposed to take the lead, she barked out, tapping a long stick onto the floor for emphasis. The onus of the flow and the rhythm lies on him. The woman follows, falling into step, letting him flow her into a perfect ease._

At Joey's indignant protest, delivered over Pacey's snickering glee, Ms. Penny Pretty tossed them a quelling glare, then continued, _Once those basics are mastered, a couple can work on a more equal distribution of accountability and style. But that's for the next level. That's for the competitions. The Big Dance._ Then, she added, _It is discipline that creates the perfect form, allowing for effortless flow. With flow, you can let go into all sorts of wondrous movement and stylings. But you must first pay attention!_ At that point, she rapped her stick lightly onto Pacey's shin to halt his continuing, fitful giggles. _Ballroom dance is an ongoing process with stages that are always evolving. You can always learn new dances -- different styles. But that dynamic you create with your partner -- the fluidity you create together -- can transpose to anything and everything. Once you get it, that is. Before that, it's all practice, practice, practice. And trust. That's what will get you to flow._

Pacey stepped back from her now, struck a gentlemanly pose, and bowed, quite elegantly. "May I have this dance, Josephine?"

"Impressive," Joey remarked. She curtsied in return, holding out invisible skirts, equally elegant. When he held out his arms, one hand higher for her to place her hand into, the other lower, to rest at her waist, she stepped into him, careful to arrange herself into the proper form. Then, she waited for him to lead.

Pacey stepped forward, determined. Right onto her foot.

"Ow! Okay, you know what? You're still not very good!"

"You're supposed to move your foot back when I move mine forward, Potter. Don't you remember?"

"I remember that you never did quite get the hang of it."

Pacey started moving them about again, keeping at it, stubborn, saying out loud. "Slow, slow, quick. Slow, slow, quick."

"It's slow, quick, quick _and_ slow, quick, quick," Joey said, rolling her eyes while correcting him and then taking over the leading.

"Okay, see? _That _right there is why we never got it in the first place. You've got to let _me_ set the rhythm, Jo," Pacey complained, letting go of her and dropping his hands.

"You don't _have_ the rhythm, Pacey!"

"Oh yeah? Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?"

Slipping a hand onto the small of her back once more, Pacey enfolded her hand with his other one, lifting her arm as he tried, yet again. Concentrating fiercely, he took them through a few more awkward turns before they relaxed, finally, into a natural rhythm, their bodies flowing into each other more easily.

"Ribcages!" Joey threw out, elevating her chin and straightening her spine. Bearing straight, arms placed just so, her hand in his with her elbow up, she affected a dancing posture that would have made Ms. Penny Pretty more than proud. Gamely matching her, Pacey waltzed her around the dock, laughing.

The first drizzling droplets, when they came, were soft like mist.

"Pacey, I think it's starting to rain," Joey said as Pacey swirled her around the dock, increasing their pace. "You're making me dizzy!" she exclaimed, slapping at his chest.

Slowing down slightly, Pacey started singing, slightly off-key but in a warm, sweet voice, "Yoouuu do somethiiiing to me, something that simply mystifiiiees me…C'mon now, make this interactive and sing along with me here, Potter! I know you know the words. We heard this song enough times in dance class."

"Tell meeeee, why should it be? You have the power to hyp-no-tize me," she warbled, amused.

The rain started falling harder while they both chimed in, together, "Leeeet meeeee live 'neath your spell, do do…that voo-doo…that you do…so well…"

Almost shouting, Pacey finished, "For yoooou doooo, something to me, that nobody else can do!"

He whipped them around one more time and then wrapped both arms around Joey's waist, catching her up against him, close. Laughing, Joey brought her own arms up to encircle his neck. Moving slower, swaying them into a gentler rhythm, Pacey cupped her jaw in one palm and tilted her face up. His mouth moved over her cheeks, her chin, and her throat before coming back up to her lips. Kissing passionately amidst the downpour, the taste of rainwater was sweet on their lips as they drank each other in.

"Pacey, I'm all wet," Joey said a little while later, gasping as she took a breath, her entire body shivering, not sure if the intense quivers were from the cold, or the rain, or the way Pacey made her feel when he kissed her like this.

"Are you now?" he murmured against her mouth, his tone deep, suggestive and sexy.

Closing her eyes against the intensity of her reaction to his voice -- just his voice -- Joey slid her hands through his slick, thick hair and plunged them into another shuddering kiss that almost brought them both down to their knees.

Pulling back, Pacey looked at her, his gaze intense and oddly vulnerable. "Why'd you really come back earlier, Jo?"

"It's the history, Pace," Joey whispered, placing her hand on his cheek, gentle. The other night, you said it was killing you. This time, it's what _saved_ you."

The skies started to thunder. Joey needed to get back to the B & B and her responsibilities. Bessie would kill her.

The rain came down even fiercer. Pacey needed to get back to the apartment. Doug was sure to lecture him.

Lightening flashed in the far off distance.

But Pacey just lowered his head to kiss Joey again, long and hard. Out there, on a public dock, they were in full view of anyone who would have still been around, braving the cold, wet weather.

They simply did not care.

One brave soul, enclosed in a yellow rubber slicker, matching boots and a big, floppy hat, glanced up from his garbage-take out duties to see that entangled, fervently kissing couple at a far-off distance. Johnny from the YMCA smiled upon recognizing them.

"Yep. Most _definitely_ dating."

XXXXX

The impromptu make-out session in front of the B & B began as an attempt to get each of them wrapped more warmly into two of the Witters' many blankets stored in the Wagoneer. John Witter always ensured that blankets were at ready in all of their vehicles, to have them available for any type of first-aid assistance – something soft to lie on for CPR victims, strips to tear into makeshift bandages, a shroud to put out small, accidental fires. But peeling off their soaked upper garments – bottom clothing still intact, though dripping wet -- to get into those dry blankets initiated emergency aid of a completely different sort. Especially when it was obvious that both the Potter truck and Bodie's car were unaccountably missing from the driveway.

"This is _so_ not a good idea!" Joey whispered down at Pacey, who lay sprawled beneath her on the Wagoneer's front seat. He had pulled her on top of him as soon as she had stripped off her drenched sweater – and he had torn off his own – and they lay tangled, pressed up against the driver's side door, their limbs folded awkwardly to adjust to the cramped space, twisted together into a crazy heap of sodden jeans, scratchy woolen blankets, wet hair and damp skin as a result of their zealous groping and impassioned kisses. "And why did we wait until now to do this anyway? The parking lot at the Marina was completely empty!"

"I forgot about the blankets 'til this instant. And besides, the Marina's too public."

"Like this is any _less_ public!" Joey countered on a nervous giggle.

"No one's here. Besides, the windows are steamed up. No one can see us."

Cupping one of her dangling breasts, Pacey pressed its perfect weight into his hand, then leaned up to take her nipple into his mouth, watching her face as he began to suckle softly. She blushed a bit at first, for she was still growing accustomed to their intimate interaction, and then arched powerfully against him, driving herself further into his mouth. Pacey chuckled at her strong reaction to his touch, but deep inside, he was also in awe that he could make her feel this way, that he could evoke such an amazing response from her.

"Pacey…" she murmured on a tiny moan, wrapping her arms around his head, grabbing his wet hair into clutching fists, instinctually grinding against him. "We can't…"

"I know," he mumbled back, dropping her nipple from his mouth and sliding his hands around her waist to push her up and slightly away from him. "We've got to stop. But I'm gonna have some _serious_ blue balls here, Jo."

"Will you be okay?" she asked him, settling back against the opposite passenger side door, wrapping herself into the blanket, covering up any bare skin below her chin.

"Sure. I'll take care of it. I have my ways," he reassured her, grinning shakily while running a hand through his hair. Throwing his own blanket over his shoulders, he arranged it around him snugly.

"I'm sure _the bishop_ thanks you for your religiosity," Joey commented, wry.

"Funny, Potter," Pacey replied, sarcastic. "But really? Not so much."

After leaning over to give her one more lingering kiss, Pacey stretched his arm into the backseat to grab the bag full of Bessie's Southport things and handed it to Joey. Then, he reached across her to unlock the door and pop it open, practically pushing her from the car. Tumbling out, laughing, Joey clutched the bag in one hand, gathering the blanket even tighter around her with the other as she crossed over in front of the Wagoneer, glad the downpour had finally ceased. She took a few steps up the B & B walk, and then turned back around, hesitating. Pacey rolled down his window.

"Yeah?" he inquired, his blue gaze a waiting question.

Joey's teeth nibbled, thoughtful, on her bottom lip and she looked at him a little shyly, considering. Then, her eyes grew lidded and her lips slid into a decidedly sultry, knowing smile.

"Say hi to _the bishop_ for me later."

Pacey choked on a surprised yet delighted laugh.

"Sure, Jo. I'll make sure to do that." Chuckling, he put the Wagoneer into gear and drove away.

When Joey got to her front door, she found a small GLAD trash bag there on the welcome mat with a large yellow-post-it attached to it. Her name was on that sticky sheet, scrawled in Jen's signature loopy cursive via red Sharpie ink. She opened the bag and lifted out that plain brown paper bag, the opening securely taped shut. Large block letters, again in the red Sharpie ink, proclaimed HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY. Turning the bag around, Joey found a neatly-printed quote on the other side:

_You got 'em by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow_.


	19. Stolen Moments: Chapter Nineteen

**THURSDAY**

Despite the torrential rains of the day before, Thursday dawned clear and by late afternoon, grew inexplicably warm. As Gail Leery went over receipts from the previous night's take, sitting at the bar at _Leery's Fresh Fish_, she mulled over yet another abrupt change of the weather during this rather tumultuous Capeside spring. Perhaps the atmosphere was merely reacting to shifts and cycles of those human denizens below – ah, the emotional intensity and turbulent dynamics of humanity! A touch dramatic, perhaps, she mused wryly, but it certainly had been a rocky year.

After a last fling with her journalistic inclinations in Philadelphia last autumn, Gail was back in Capeside, a fledgling restauranteur, in partnership with her ex-husband and Bodie, their trusted sometime neighbor. Things between she and Mitch were finally smoothing out and though she did not know exactly what it was they were doing, it felt right. Their connection was completely renewed and the love – well, the love had never gone away. It probably never would.

Love was strange that way, Gail reflected. Yesterday afternoon, her sister Gwen called to check in, to talk about how her packing was going as she readied herself for a new life in a different city, even informing her that she might have met someone new – an attractive young man who ran a local gallery in that soon-to-be fresh metropolis. This, Gail was extremely pleased to hear, as her lovely, vivacious sister had stayed holed up in the countryside hibernating since Richard, the love of her life, died last year. It never ceased to amaze her how much loving her sister and that intense painter-husband of hers packed into such a short time. At first, Gail was as shocked and disapproving as everyone else in their family when Gwen left her attorney husband and high school sweetheart for this big artist-bear of a man who had swaggered into their lives one day, seemingly from out of nowhere.

But when she saw them together, Gail knew it was something real. They had that essence, the one that vibrates, palpable, off the intense connection of two people completely within the throes of each other, almost like the aura that surrounds the blessed -- a kinetic static energy imbuing the air all around them. It was the only time in their entire existence she had ever seen Gwen glow that way. And Richard glowed too, when he was with Gwen. That kind of love was rare, probably even divine. Usually too cynical for such treacly thoughts – Mitch was the idealist and romantic between them – Gail _did_, however, believe in that kind of love. Because _she_ had a love like that, too.

Gail knew she was lucky to have found it so soon in her life and to retain it, so many years later, despite unexpected trials along the way. Fresh out of college, Boston University media journalism degree in hand, Gail fixed her eye on a long-desired career in news broadcasting. Mitch, having carved out a steadfast role as Boston University's always-dependable go-to wide receiver, catching passes from a quarterback who went on to fame and glory as a professional football player, wanted nothing more than to settle down with the girl he had always loved and start a family in Capeside. Gail loved Mitch, yet did not want to give up her dreams of being a crack reporter. So they struck a deal. She would give him a child; he would give up Capeside for Philadelphia, a medium-size big city with a more expansive media demographic. It was a good deal, one that would ensure they'd live happily ever.

But things don't always work out the way you expect them to. Circumstances change and the best-laid plans go awry. Mitch came to live in Philadelphia, at her insistence, and though young and healthy, Gail was unsuccessful two times before finally bringing their only child to term. Those were some of the darkest and saddest episodes of her life. Yet shortly after Dawson was born, she hit some small success at the local Philadelphia news station. And while she paid her dues and worked her way through that media maelstrom, Mitch took on odd carpenter and fix-up jobs, thinking up various entrepreneurial schemes to add income to their family base.

Throughout, he focused undivided attention on their son, taking him along everywhere he went, sharing their Capeside childhood stories about growing up and falling in love, showering him with real-life anecdotes in lieu of fairy-tales. In Mitch's accounts, reality was better than a fantasy, which was ironic, given that Gail went off to work every weekday, to report all of those realities that folks used fantasy to escape _from_. But they were content, going on this way, for quite some time.

Until the year Dawson turned five. Suddenly, they were back in Capeside again, moving into a new home, starting over in the place they had originally begun. Because contentment plays second fiddle to passion and in the end, Mitch never lost his passion for Capeside and the notion that _this_ was where he wanted his son to grow up, shielded from the inescapable cynicism of big-city life, surrounded instead by the picaresque magic of a kinder, gentler small town. Love was a push-and-pull dynamic and taking turns was a given. Gail loved Mitch. So she took her turn.

Pausing over the tally sheet on the bar, Gail pondered over more recent events. Last year, she dallied with destruction in the form of Bob, her extraordinarily attentive co-anchor at the Capeside news station. Taking your turn did not always mean you are completely happy about doing so. It wasn't until she was in the thick of that ill-fated affair that she acknowledged she had been unhappy for some time. Her life was so _fixed_ from the time she set eyes on Mitch Leery as a toddler to that moment last year when Bob leaned in and sealed her indiscretion with an unexpected though not unwelcome kiss. Gail had never known anyone else and this was exciting, different. Liberating.

Gwen's gutsy grab at once-in-a-lifetime love motivated Gail to finally test her boundaries, explore beyond what she had always known. In this, the older sibling followed the younger one's example. But she almost lost it all because Mitch was her something real all along. Sometimes you need to take that risk to know what you have is truly meant to be. Other times, as it was with Gwen, you find out it was someone else out there, all along.

_I want someone to love me someday, the way that Dad loves you_, Dawson said to her, just last Tuesday night, upon her return from a final jaunt to Philadelphia to cut the ties that bound her to her previous career. _A certain someone, especially,_ he added, wistful, his eyes far away in that instant. He had just returned from driving Joey home to the Potter B & B.

Sitting at the kitchen table together, while outside Mitch finished packing up the Explorer for that father-son camping trip, mother and child re-connected during a quiet moment devoid of recrimination or resentment. Gail treasured the unexpected respite. Reaching over, she grasped her son's hand, reassuring him, _Someone will, Dawson. _**_She_**_ will._ Yet as she played her words back now, her ruminations grew more practical. Dawson was only sixteen years old. And though she would love it above all things if he and Joey were to develop a union into posterity – Lillian Potter had been her very best friend, after all -- how could her son be so sure that she was "The One"?

Love was such a crapshoot, always full of questions that lead to more questions and then, eventually, decisions that bind. Or break. And Life was stingy with any clues as to where your heart should go, definitively. Until that moment, ever-elusive and mysterious, when you just _know_. So you crash-and-burn in the meantime, willing the survival to live and love another day. For Gail – love was the same man, differently, over the span of several decades and probably, for the rest of her life. For Gwen, it was a different man from one she thought it should have been, yet she loved him with such passionate intensity – utter, complete, deep – during the course of only a few years. And though she would certainly love again, Gail knew she would never love as absolutely. Fortunate indeed is the woman who finds something real that combines the best of both scenarios. But that would be extraordinarily rare, Gail thought wistfully, maybe even impossible.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, Gail realized with a start that it was already 3:45 p.m. Pacey was due fifteen minutes ago to go over the restaurant's sponsorship of his boat in next month's annual regatta. He was late. The phone at the end of the bar rang and Gail leaned far across the counter to snatch it up.

"Leery's Fresh Fish!"

XXXXX

Pacey was running late. The quick errand to switch out one part for the _True Love_ ended up taking two full hours, the wait inexplicably long and excruciating. Now he was rushing to get to _Leery's Fresh Fish_ to meet up with Gail, past the original time he had promised. But the Wagoneer needed to be gassed up first. And then Buzz urgently decided that this was the best time to empty his pent-up bodily waste. So he was playing the waiting game. Again.

Checking the clock display on the car's dashboard, Pacey felt a jolt of irritation – what the hell was taking that tiny dude so long? He needed to meet with Gail, drop off Buzz to his mother at 4:30 and then head out to the playground where he planned to see Joey. It was fast nearing 4:00 already. Pacey sighed, exasperated. His stomach roiled and he closed his eyes, pressing against his tummy with the heel of his hand. Anxious energy always wreaked havoc with his insides.

The morning session with Will and Buzz was exceedingly productive and pleasantly smooth, until he realized the final part he needed to affix was defective. He did not want to drag Will along on this last errand to exchange the faulty part, especially knowing that Will had an open invitation to join Andie and the others at the Potter B & B for lunch before they all hunkered down for an intense afternoon history-paper writing congregation. So Pacey released him from any further _True Love_ obligations and encouraged him to meet up with the rest of the gang instead, calling Jen to pick him up from the Marina on her way over. Before he left, Pacey asked Will to deliver a message to Joey, telling her to meet him later by the swings at the old playground. Chuckling, his erstwhile boyhood batterer good-naturedly agreed to bear her those tidings.

Rushing around town this afternoon with an increasingly recalcitrant Buzz in tow, however, was not turning out very smoothly at all. Their mentoring time together would draw to a close after this weekend and Buzz was acting out in that pre-separation-anxiety way that Pacey recognized instantly. Because he used to be – and still was, to some degree – the master of that particular trick. So Buzz was more of a smart-ass than usual, behaving in as many contrary ways as he could muster. Pacey waited this out, too, reining in his own natural impatience to stay tolerant and unruffled. But he was quickly reaching the limits of his tethers.

Pacey's stomach rolled again and he grunted his discomfort. The last time he felt this manifestly fretful was that day, long ago, when he prepared to pick up Andie from Mayfield Mental Hospital at the beginning of the school year. Fresh from their tentative dock accord, and with Dawson's endorsement still ringing in his ears, he had allowed Joey to accompany him.

_This is ridiculous_, Pacey told Joey, outside by the Capeside Police Jeep, after the front desk attendant rebuffed his initial attempt to get in to see Andie. _What happened?_ she asked, from her perch on the hood of his car. _Well, the clinic doesn't allow visitors after hours. Subsequently I can't talk to Andie, and subsequently, I can't get her permission to take her home._ She raised her hand then, placing it in the air, hovering expectantly. _What?_ he questioned, perplexed and a little annoyed. But Pacey took her hand anyway. _Follow me_, Joey said, sliding off the car hood and pulling him after her to re-enter the hospital building. And then she distracted the attendant with a blithe, long-winded account of the soul-mate saga while settled upon the front desk countertop, waving him through just beneath to scuttle-crawl across that final obstructing barrier.

As Pacey took the stairs, two steps at a time, he remembered feeling a mixture of yearning anticipation and mystifying dread. That day brought both an instant of pure happiness, when he first saw Andie standing in that room, familiar and beloved, and then an immediate nagging sense of foreboding, once he registered Mark, lingering uncertainly within the periphery of his joy. And as circumstances soon played out, that moment was a beginning simultaneous to an end. Joey had seen it before he had, and after a brief shared glance of unwilling startled acknowledgement, they averted their eyes from each other, as if by doing so, they could force that undesirable possibility into oblivion. Then, apprehensive in the aftermath of that awkward discovery, she helped him pack up Andie's things and they brought her back to Capeside, together.

But things had already shifted and changed. In more ways than either of them could even begin to think of acknowledging.

The unofficial team of Potter & Witter next took on the task of creating and developing the Potter Bed & Breakfast. _You guys, it's all so exciting!_ Bessie exclaimed, one fine morning when construction was finally busily underway, her eyes lighting up at the activity all around her. _Now tell me, whose brilliant idea was this again?_ Pacey and Joey answered in unison, _Mine_. After a second, Pacey added, _Ok, it was your sister's idea to craft this place into a bed and breakfast, but _**_I'm_**_ the one who told her how she could do it for next to nothing_.

Bessie thanked him then for all of his help with getting the Police Auxiliary to assist them and then, after pouring cups of coffee for himself and Joey, he and she walked a bit, conversing casually. The topic inevitably came back around to Andie, going on a date with Rob, Joey's shifty former boss at the Marina. _Sorry. I wasn't going to tell you, Pacey,_ Joey said, though she actually had not. He read it, plain, on her inescapably expressive face. _Why do I feel like I just got hit with a sledgehammer?_ he said, feeling his gut drop and his heart contract painfully. _If it's any consolation, it won't last. I mean, Andie's way too smart to fall for that jerk's act—_, she started to say, attempting restitution. But Pacey interrupted her. _Hey, it's ok. Whatever makes her happy, right?_ Then he turned to walk away, tossing the rest of his cooling coffee into the grass.

Pacey thought **he** would never be happy again. Yet with each passing instance in Joey's presence – more instances he had ever spent in his entire life with her, alone -- he grew less and less _un_happy.

_Just like the cops to disappear when the going gets tough_, Joey commented wryly one night while they swept up the leftover remains of the day's construction in one of the new additions to the house. _Some of them _**_do_**_ have wives and children to get home to. Besides, we're almost done here, and, you know, I was thinking_, Pacey said, straightening from emptying some trash into a bin. _You're gonna need a name for this addition when we do get finished, so a suggestion, if I may? How does _**_The Pacey J. Witter Wing_**_ strike you?_ She fixed him with a sardonic look before answering, _Keep talking, it'll be a memorial dedication._ Smirking, he replied, _You know, Potter, sometimes your lack of gratefulness? It borders on unappealing._

Pacey remembered thinking, unaccountably, that Joey looked pretty that night. Grubby from their exertions, her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, long, loose strands escaping to fall haphazard about her neck and shoulders. Sweat stained her brow and in patches about her t-shirt while dust powdered parts of her face and person. Nope, she was definitely not at her best, appearance-wise. Yet there it was, a sudden musing that blindsided him: _She's so pretty._

Then that phone call came, interrupting them -- the one from Andie that had them both rushing out to rescue her from Rob. It was a call that plunged Pacey back into a still-lingering love and unintentionally, a remembered pleasure. Unexpected, his careful comfort turned into an ill-conceived overnight reunion, which he sundered painfully the very next day. Because though he loved her deeply, Andie was not 'The One."

Pacey had named his boat _True Love_ to illuminate an ideal he refused to give up on. Though after that night, he began to think it was unattainable, after all. Yet still, there were those passing instances, consistent and increasing.

_Like, oh my God, go team!_ Pacey mockingly squeaked, waylaying Joey in the school hallway, after emerging from behind a cardboard stand-up cut-out of a life-size Capeside High Minuteman. _Ha ha,_ she replied dryly. _For a minute I thought you'd been possessed by these school spirit creatures from Planet Overzealous._

_Not quite yet, but I _**_am_**_ thinking about making a run for it before the pods hatch. What do you say, Scully?_ he inquired, wry, looking down at her through half-lowered lashes.

_Cut class with you?_ she asked, meeting his mordant gaze head on with a sardonic glance of her own. _Sounds delectable. I'll pass._

_What if I told you that there was a mission to my madness?_

_Are you serious?_

_But of course. Ze monsieur in the stylish shirt requests the presence of the Madame for a very pressing appointment, ya?_ Pacey continued, in a faux-Frenchy tone.

_What is it?_ Joey asked, warily curious.

_Well, that would be the surprise part._

_Just tell me, Pacey._

_Let's think about that..._ he mused before instantly snapping out, _Nope._

_Well, fine,_ she said, mulish. _You won't tell me, then I'm not going anywhere,_ and she started to walk away down the hallway.

_Oh, little Jo, you're so cute,_ Pacey trilled, reaching out to pat her on the head, patronizing. When she turned, scowling, he placed a companionable hand on her shoulder. _But friend to friend, honestly? You should check into some more of those feigning disinterest classes._

_Oh, thanks. But trust me, Pacey. I couldn't care less._

_Well, ok. Whether or not you're actually interested, you have about ten seconds to make up your mind after I round that corner. Starting now. One... two... three... _and he left her standing there while he jauntily strolled off. Not long after, she rounded that corner after him. _Six seconds! Six?_ he admonished her, thrusting six of his fingers into her face. _I mean, come on. Have you no pride? I thought you'd last at least to eight!_ She simply glared. _I loathe you._ But she followed him anyway.

Later, after their tag-team foray into truancy was unceremoniously cut short by Principal Green -- compounded by them almost being pressed into humiliating service as a horse mascot for a high school football game, which they were wily enough to phanagle out of, last second -- Pacey took Joey down to the Marina to unveil his next great project. From penetrating the administrative shields of mental institutions to transforming an old family home into a brand-new working bed-and-breakfast, they had already teamed up for prior successful adventures. So Joey was the first person he thought of to share this nascent undertaking with.

_This is it? This is the surprise?_ she asked him, less than impressed. _Isn't she beautiful?_ Pacey declared, his enthusiasm, unsullied. _Yeah, in a Titanic post-iceberg sort of way,_ Joey said, rueful. After he explained how he fortuitously got the boat for an insane bargain, she continued, _Do you know how much money and time it'll take you to even get this boat to float?_

_Yeah. Not a minute more or less than as long as it takes me. You watch, Potter. Couple of months, I'll be sailing this baby around the world._ Soon after, when they were both aboard, standing on the deck of his newest love, he announced, _And now, the purpose for our little foray into truancy..._ Opening the brown rectangular package they had picked up from the post office earlier in the day, Pacey slid a glossy sign-plank from that cover and held it with both hands, extending it out toward Joey. _What do you say?_ he asked with a jaunty smile.

_"True Love"?_ she inquired, half-mocking.

_Yeah. It's my girl's name_, Pacey said, adding sheepishly, _It's kinda high on the schmaltz factor, huh?_

_Acutely_, Joey replied, concurring. Then, shrugging, she added more sincerely, _But sweet._

Afterwards, Pacey handed her a dry, rough solid square. _Start sandin'_, he instructed. Taking it from him, glowering, she tossed out, _You are _**_so_**_ overboard_. Leaning over the rail at the side of the boat, she started rubbing energetically.

Within a few minutes, she turned around, sitting on her haunches to gaze up, exasperated, at Pacey standing over her. _Pacey?_ she cried. _What!_ he responded, throwing his arms out to punctuate the inquiry. _I'm tired_, Joey stated, sinking back against the boat rail.

_You just got started_, Pacey pointed out, unmoved. Getting down on his knees beside her, he urged her back up and over the railing, showing her the most efficient and effective way to sand the sides of the boat. _C'mon, Potter,_ he told her then. _We're only at the beginning here. There's still a long way to go._

Pacey leaned back in the Wagoneer's front seat, both hands resting lightly on the bottom of the steering wheel. He could not pinpoint exactly when he stopped being unhappy. The days and months of heartache and despondency unraveled, seemingly effortless, into this moment now, with him sitting in the driver's seat of a car, awaiting a little boy to meet up with an old friend and matron, just to get to the one person he wanted to see the most of all -- the girl who had made him happy again.

And though he did not know when the shift had started, he knew exactly when the change had come.

_You'll never get it started with the hickory on the bottom,_ Grams told them the weekend they all gathered to impersonate a full clientele for the fledgling Potter B & B for that renowned hospitality critic, Mr. Frederick Fricke. Walking into the living room where all the men –- Mitch, Dawson, Jack and Pacey -- labored helplessly over a stubbornly unlit fire, she asked, simply, _May I?_ After a flurry of exchanged looks, they all stepped back to let Grams take over. Rearranging the stack they had already assembled, she conversed easily as she deftly reworked that pile. _Hickory is a glorious wood, but it's a hard wood. Will never burn on its own. Soft pine goes on the bottom, oak in the middle, hickory on top._ Striking the match, Grams lit the fire. _There we go,_ she said, as the flames came roaring to life.

_Wow, I'm impressed_! Mitch exclaimed.

_You know, she churns her own butter, too_, Jen threw in, only half-joking.

_Oh, I used to build a fire after dinner every night in the winter_, Grams continued, smiling modestly. _Jennifer's Grandfather would sit in his leather chair, feet on ottoman, and read to me. Some nights we'd travel with Ahab in search of the great whale. Or some nights we'd float down the perilous river with Huck and Jim. Nearly every night, at some point in our journey, he'd fall asleep, chin on chest, book in lap, content. You know you love someone when you can spend the entire night just sitting by the fire, watching him sleep._

Wistful, Gail said, _Sounds like you loved him very much._

_Love is the hardest of woods_, Grams added. _Takes a long, long time to heat up, but it does._

_God, it smells good in here,_ Jen breathed, speaking for everyone else in that room.

_Hickory burning in the hearth,_ Grams pronounced. _Smells like forty-six years of my life._

The very next night, in an empty living room save for Joey fast asleep on the couch and him, recently returned from tussling with the furnace repairs, he tucked a warm blanket around that girl's slumbering form and settled into a rocking chair right across from her. He spent the entire night there. Just sitting by the fire. Watching her sleep.

After all of those passing instances, over every second that turned to minutes which became hours then days and now months, in that moment, he _knew_.

The passenger side door flew open. "I'm hungry. I want a hot dog!" Buzz demanded, as soon as he slammed back into the Wagoneer, pointing at _Harry's Happy Hot Dog Stand_ across the street.

"Nope. We've got someplace to be," Pacey answered, shaking his head to both bring himself back to the present and to express an unyielding response to the tyke sitting next to him. "Your mom wants you home promptly at 4:30. And I've got to go meet someone right after that."

"Is it Joey?" Buzz asked. "Your hottie-giiiirlfrieeeend?" he added, sing-songing.

"None of your business, squirt," Pacey replied, keeping his eyes on the road as he pealed out onto the street.

"It is, isn't it? You're meeting Joooeeey!"

"Cut that out, Buzz. You're getting on my nerves," Pacey bit out.

"I will if you let me go back and get a hot dog."

"No more stops."

"But I'm staaaarving!" Buzz complained, whining loud.

"Whining will get you nowhere fast," Pacey pronounced, gritting his teeth and ignoring his companion's continued entreaties and pleas for the rest of the short but seemingly endless drive to _Leery's Fresh Fish_.

XXXXX

When Pacey finally strode through the restaurant's front entrance, he was carrying a squalling nine-year old boy, fireman-style, on his shoulder.

"Put me down!" that pint-sized hellion shouted, thumping his fists on the older – and larger – boy's back. Pacey dropped him to the floor and then curled one hand around the back of his neck to arrest further restless fidgeting.

"And what do we have here?" Gail asked, amused, swiveling on her stool, crossing her arms across her chest.

"This is my churlish charge for the day. Or at least until 4:30 when I can finally relinquish him to the custody of his hard-working mom. Buzz – say hello to Gail Leery."

"Hello, Gail Leery," Buzz said, managing not to sound too churlish.

"He's usually much more sociable – believe me – but he's in a bad mood right now because he's hungry and I insisted we forego Harry's fine hot dogs in favor of getting my tardy butt over here instead. Sorry I'm late," Pacey finished, offering up a sheepish, apologetic smile.

"No problem, Pacey. I totally understand," Gail responded. Then, "I've got some peanuts," she offered, reaching behind her to grab a heaping pile of freshly roasted ones in a bowl. She held it out to Buzz and, after a quick questioning glance up at Pacey which gained him an affirmative nod, he came over to take it from her. Going over to a nearby booth, he proceeded to happily munch, quite noisily, upon this unforeseen but entirely welcome snack food.

"So, your sponsorship for the Regatta next month – you guys are still in, right?" Pacey asked.

"Of course we are! It will be an honor to have our banner flying from your boat's mast," Gail replied.

'Thanks, Gail. I really appreciate it," he told her, grinning back. "I'll try to do you proud."

"You already do us proud, Pacey," Gail said, winking at him before leaning over the counter to grab a few pieces of paper. "So Mitch and I filled out the written particulars already, and all we need is for you to sign where appropriate and to fill us in on the process during that day."

Pacey proceeded to explain all of the pertinent nautical details as he scrawled his signature on each document that Gail handed to him. As she listened to him, his voice brimming with excitement and his eyes lit with enthusiasm, Gail thought to herself, he is growing up so well!

She had always been terribly fond of Pacey. Last year, when he cheekily ran for the title of Miss Windjammer – the only male contestant amidst a bevy of females – she felt deep pride over his renegade tendencies. _How am I doing Mrs. Leery?_ he had asked her, between events. _Pacey! I gotta tell you. You are funny. You're charming. The audience loves you,_ she said, enthusiastic. _Seriously?_ he questioned, his initial surprise layered over a hopeful giddiness.

_You may not have a snowball's chance in hell of winning but you're definitely keeping me from falling asleep._

_I'm not even in the running?_

_Pacey you know these people would rather see this club go down in flames before they would actually crown a male Miss Windjammer,_ Gail continued in a practical tone.

_Yeah but for me to be written off is just completely unfair,_ Pacey responded, disappointment clouding over his previous delight.

_Honey,_ Gail informed him, the objective reporter in her, telling him straight. Because she knew he could take it. _Fair and beauty pageants aren't exactly synonymous._

So Pacey proceeded to finish out the contest on his own terms, flying in the face of convention yet again by delivering a rousing rendition of William Wallace's battle cry from the movie _Braveheart_ (blue face paint included!). Thumbing his nose at stringent protocol, he emerged from that experience with his dignity, creativity and charm intact. Yup – Gail was sure damned proud of that boy!

Finishing with the paperwork, Pacey strolled over to where Buzz sat, wolfing down peanuts. Reaching over, he grabbed a handful for himself from the bowl and sat down, opposite him. As they cracked open each nut, they started tossing the shells at one another, good-natured, though Pacey did state, unequivocally, that they would need to clean up any mess before they left the premises.

Watching them, a wistful smile pulled at the corners of Gail's lips. Dawson told her that when he first started mentoring that little boy, Pacey had some trouble with him and almost asked for a reassignment. Accustomed to rejection, Buzz pushed out at him, constantly testing. But when Pacey found out that his father had abandoned him and that his mother worked two jobs to support them, leaving Buzz often alone, and thus, lonely, his stubborn yet compassionate nature kicked in and he stayed put. And despite their earlier entrance that might indicate the opposite, the two had become pals. Beneath the smart-ass exterior, Gail could tell that Buzz simply adored Pacey.

Pacey himself had been a precocious little boy with an easygoing, assured charisma that masked a more hunted, yearning sensibility that Gail glimpsed on more than one occasion. More often than not, it would emerge more visibly around his parents. Gail had known John Witter since grade school and he had always been a bully. When he brought Mary back to Capeside as his wife, directly after a curtailed stint at Boston Bay College, she was already pregnant with their first child. And she kept popping out children, one right after the other. Gretchen was supposed to be their last, but four years later, Mary birthed her youngest child after the longest labor recorded in Capeside General Hospital history. It took two full days for Pacey John Witter to enter the world. And to hear his father tell it, he would have rather his second son had stayed out of it.

Gail never understood John's malevolence toward Pacey and understood even less Mary's apparent obliviousness toward his upbringing, allowing him to run around Capeside at all hours of the night and day with no supervision and then withdrawing during every single tongue-lashing that his father needlessly visited upon him as a result. So Gail offered to baby-sit often and encouraged Pacey to come by their house anytime he wanted or needed to, leaving the front door unlocked so he could enter, twenty-four hours, daily. Gail lost count of the times that she would awaken in the morning to find Pacey curled up on their living room couch, asleep, his cheeks stained with drying tears.

She and Mitch welcomed him into their own family as a surrogate son and an unofficial brother for Dawson, giving Pacey safe haven and free rein within their house, providing as much supplemental support as they could for him. Especially in the face of the ever-increasing neglect he was subject to at his own home. When the Potter family started disintegrating, shortly thereafter, and when Lillian's emotional and health woes began, Gail welcomed yet another child refugee into her home – an informal daughter -- though Joey's preferred entry was via ladder into Dawson's bedroom window. So by default, Gail found herself permanent den mother to a brood of three. Three she might have had of her own, if her earlier pregnancies had not gone awry.

They say your personality is set by the time you are three years old. By the time Dawson met Joey and Pacey, their personalities were already fully-formed at five. A pair of more distinctive and feisty personalities Gail had never encountered at such a young age! Yet it wasn't necessarily each of them individually that was so striking – though Pacey's cocky charm and Joey's spunky spine most certainly set them apart from other Capeside children she had met -- but moreso the explosion of energy that they enabled together.

Those two drew out constant action from her son, the perpetual dreamer. When they were around, Dawson was a whirlwind of imagination and drive, making a whole host of fantasies real for them. Isolation was inadvertently thrust upon Dawson during the first five years of his life. No fellow siblings, only a part-time mother, and the product of young parents too fully absorbed with one another. That sorry state of affairs was thankfully rectified after the fortuitous meeting of these three.

Gail's eye came to rest on Pacey's right cheek where she knew a tiny moon-shaped scar graced the very corner of his cheekbone. The first time Gail took them all ice-skating, they were six years old. Pacey took to the ice pretty naturally but her own son was awkward and clumsy, constantly falling down or bumping into things. Joey stayed close to the walls, but managed to find her feet adequately near the end of the afternoon. Teasing Dawson mercilessly – for it was the first time Pacey felt he was actually good at something, perhaps even superior with a singular skill – her son reacted in extreme frustration. Rushing at and then piling into him, Dawson tangled them both up, falling hard onto the ice. As he attempted to get back up, he slipped, twisting his ankle, and the very back edge of his skate blade hit Pacey's face, slicing into his cheek, barely missing his eye.

Though the slice was actually very tiny, Gail was horrified at all the dark red blood suddenly staining the frozen white ice. Meanwhile, Joey glided to the edge of the rink and vomited over the side of the railing, sick at the sight of all that blood. At the hospital, Dawson got an angry lecture and a bandaged cast, Pacey got several stitches, and Joey got two aspirin for a resulting headache from the afternoon's drama. Yet by that night, the three of them lay sprawled all over Dawson's bed, contentedly eating popcorn and watching a video, that earlier commotion, completely forgiven and forgotten.

When there is only two throughout a lifetime, it becomes too intensive, often insular, Gail mused, thinking back to herself and Mitch, even herself and Lillian. Though they three had known each other throughout childhood, those relationships were kept distinctive and separate. Witnessing the evolution of Dawson, Joey and Pacey, that inseparable trio, Gail came to the conclusion that you need a third to best balance out into a perfect harmony, establishing a necessary fulcrum to keep the scales continually working. Three was truly the magic number.

"By the way, Pacey, Dawson called earlier," Gail said now, directing the statement over to he and Buzz as they hunkered down picking up peanut shells, swooping them up with their fingers off the floor and sweeping them into their palms from the seats. "He and Mitch are coming back early. Tonight, instead of tomorrow. Mitch has to come back to take care of some unexpected vendor issues for the restaurant. Are you going to see Joey at all today?"

"Later, I think," Pacey replied, his eyes focused on his peanut-shell-cleaning mission.

"I guess she and Dawson made dinner plans for tomorrow night. So if you _do_ see her, tell her he'll probably be calling her later to reschedule."

Uh, sure, Gail. Will do."

"Joooeeey, the hottie-giiirlfrieeend," Buzz interjected, sing-songing again, throwing a jesting look over at Pacey.

Pacey visibly stiffened and Gail saw him toss an involuntary, furtive glance in her direction, before he turned to Buzz and shook his head firmly. "Nah…you're confused kid. Joey Potter is far from hottie material, believe you me."

"But-"

"-That's enough, Buzz," Pacey interrupted, his snappish tone brooking no nonsense, supplemented by a nasty glare that immediately shut the younger boy up. Hastily getting to his feet, Pacey walked over to the dust-bin behind the bar counter and emptied his collected shells into it, instructing Buzz to do the same. Involuntarily, Pacey clutched at his stomach, blanching slightly.

Gail's brow furrowed. "You okay, Pacey?" she asked, concerned. "Want some early supper? On the house?" she asked him when he straightened. "Maybe you're a little hungry."

"Nah, I'm good. Besides, I've gotta drop this little guy off to his mom and then I have to be somewhere else right after that. Thanks, though."

"Anytime, Pacey. You know that.

"I know. See ya, Gail."

"Goodbye, Pacey. 'Bye, Buzz."

"Goodbye, Gail Leery."

As she watched them leave, Gail recalled something Gwen asked on the phone earlier, something she had glossed over at the time. But now, it stood out more clearly in her mind. _How is everyone?_, Gwen had inquired, _No major explosions or earth-shattering declarations?_ she added, half-teasing. Yet beneath, a sense of disquietude anchored both questions. Gail's reporter instincts kicked in, automatic, as she recalled the way Pacey reacted just now to Buzz's harmless teasing. Was something afoot, already unraveling?

XXXXX

"I decided to start all over," Andie told Joey, earlier that afternoon, as they pored over the books they each brought for their Watergate assignment.

Andie called Joey the night before with an idea for a proposed lunchtime study session at the B & B to finally focus on that long-delayed history homework. Recent events – parallel yet separate – had delayed the usual over-achievers' customary head starts. Well, Joey's anyway. Andie had written an outline rough draft that would probably be longer than most people's final papers.

"You're ditching the essay you already wrote? That's crazy, Andie!" Joey had exclaimed, looking at the seven-page document in her hand, incredulous.

"I'll take that, thank you very much," Jack said, swiping it from her and rolling it up into a tube. But just as he was about to put it into his backpack, Andie reached over to grab it out of his grasp. Jack whimpered softly while Andie shook her head, her face stern.

"There will be no more cheating in the McPhee family. Not by me. Certainly not by you. Besides, these are just notes I jotted down yesterday. It's not completely written. My ideas are still evolving," she pronounced.

"At least you _have_ ideas. I'm still staring down at the same blank page that greeted me when I woke up this morning. History and I are strange bed-fellows these days," Joey muttered, cryptic.

"I'm telling you, just watch the movie, Joey. It's actually pretty good," Jack persisted. "Henry thought there should be more teenage girls in it, but I really liked it. It made the history lesson bearable. Illuminating even."

"Jack, I have to write my paper based on my own thoughts and ideas. If I watch the movie, I might be unduly influenced. All movies are made with the filmmaker's intent and sensibility controlling it. I want to figure out my own perspective on this piece of history."

"You're only influenced if you let yourself be," Jack countered. "It's just one version of an event that only changed the course of modern American politics. Whatever truth you take from it is your own choice. And your own responsibility."

"My brother," Andie cut in, "the cinema couch-potato sage."

Then Jen came, with Will in tow, apparently let off from his _True Love_ refurbishing activities for the afternoon as Pacey and Buzz ran boat-related errands in town. Pulling Joey aside, Will whispered Pacey's message for her to meet him later by the swings at the old playground after 4:30pm. In that moment, she felt a tiny thrill of anticipation, thinking of seeing Pacey again, soon. But then, as she watched Andie and Will bantering and teasing throughout the afternoon, a sobering thought seized her – all this time, they were so worried about telling Dawson. Who was going to tell Andie?

In a different world, she and Andie might have been best friends. Perhaps if Lillian Potter had married Sterling Montgomery's silver-spoon father, who had been her high school boyfriend. Before she fell in love with Mike Potter the summer before their senior year, that is, thus breaking young Montgomery's Harvard-bound heart. Or if the McPhees had stayed in Capeside throughout Jack's and Andie's growing up years instead of moving to Providence for most of it. Or if there had never been a Dawson Leery. And if a Pacey Witter did not exist.

They were so much alike, she and Andie – driven, ambitious, grades-obsessed, smart, and most of all, survivors. They had campaigned for class office as running mates during sophomore year. They were in a friendly competition for the grade-point spaces at the top of their junior class. They had both suffered and then processed through broken hearts from first loves last autumn, inadvertently providing occasional advice and support to one another in that interim. Yet as it was, they were good friends, but certainly not the best of.

And now – well, the greatest thing they had in common was the one thing that would most definitely keep them on opposing tracks. Joey still remembered Andie's angry frustration the night they sat on the Potter B & B porch last fall.

_You lied to me. You told me one thing to my face, and then you went right behind my back. I thought you were supposed to be my friend!_

_I am, Andie,_ Joey reassured her, taken aback by the accusatory onslaught.

_Oh, and you have such deep feelings for me that you went straight to Pacey and sabotaged everything?_

_Pacey? I haven't even talked to Pacey since you guys dropped me off._

_You expect me to believe that?_ Andie asked, aggressive.

_Well, it's the truth,_ Joey replied, bemused.

_Oh, ok,_ Andie threw out. _So it's just a coincidence that one minute we're together and the next he never wants to see me again?_

_When did this happen?_

_Tonight. An hour ago. Right after you went and told him that I made up the entire story about Rob just to get him back._

_Look,_ Joey said, clarifying herself, taking on a mollifying tone. _Ok, Andie, I admit it did cross my mind. But I didn't believe it, not for a minute._

_Is that right?_ Andie snapped out, not giving an inch.

_Look, I know you. I... I know that you're a good person. You-- you would never do anything so hurtful and plainly wrong._ Silent, Andie walked away from her, going over to the other side of the porch. _What? What did I say?_

_Nothing,_ Andie muttered, keeping her face averted.

_You can tell me, Andie._

_Look, you don't know me, Joey, ok? You don't know what I'm capable of when I set my sights on something._

_Andie, you're a stubborn and determined person. There's nothing wrong with that._

_No! It's more. It's like I've got blinders on. And all I can see is what's right in front of me, what I'm after, and everything on the edges just gets blocked out somehow._

_What are you talking about?_ Joey asked her, perplexed.

_I'm talking about Pacey,_ Andie admitted, her voice breaking a little beneath the strident tone. _I love him, and I need him. And the truth is... I don't know what the truth is anymore._

Uncertain and a little cowed by Andie's powerful anguish, Joey crossed the porch and sat next to her, placing her arm around her shoulders, saying only, _It's ok._

She only found out this very week that Pacey told Andie that night that she was not "The One."

Now on the road, paper-writing session finished, Jack was driving back to his house to await his evening daily phone call from Ethan, his maybe-boyfriend. Since it was on his way, he was dropping Joey off at the General Store for some supplies for Alexander. The old playground was a mere few blocks away. Andie and Will had gone with Jen to grab something to eat while they planned a celebratory movie-watching evening at the Rialto Cinema Complex, where Jack would meet them later on that night.

Mulling over first loves once more, Joey considered all of those years sleeping next to Dawson in his bed. At fifteen, she thought Dawson was "The One." And yet, as she came to discover shortly after that and certainly more recently, things were much more complicated. Especially when sex was involved. There had been times, of course, when there was discomfort, some tension, and an unspoken, tentative longing between she and Dawson. And they had kissed and caressed and touched each other, physical. But they had never been sexual. Pacey was a different story, entirely. In just a few days, she had done more with him than she had ever with anyone else. And she craved to go further, though she had no real idea what that might entail.

Joey paused, startled at the turn her thoughts were taking. She had been thinking about the possible implications of hers and Pacey's newfound dynamics on Andie and now she was ruminating over sex again. Though they had Pacey in common, her and Andie's experiences with him were decidedly not at all similar. Especially when it came to the more physical aspects of their relations. However, if sex **did** change things, well, Andie and Pacey had been sexual and they seemed fine. So could things possibly be much simpler, after all?

"What's up, Jo?" Jack was asking her now. "You looked to be in a galaxy far, far away just now."

"Pacey says there's a new version of the bases," Joey tossed out at Jack, partly to shift the subject matter in her head and partly curious to see if what Pacey had told her on Monday night was, indeed, fact.

"Oh, you mean the contemporary upgraded Standardized Guide to the Bases?" Jack asked, not missing a beat.

Stupified, Joey stared at him for a long second before saying, "Er…yes. Do you mind enlightening me? I thought Pacey was just making that up."

"Why were you and Pacey talking about the bases?" Jack inquired with a pert grin, teasing in what he obviously believed was a completely harmless manner. Because as far as the gang was concerned, she and Pacey would _never_ have reason to be discussing the bases in an amorous context with _each other_.

Joey shifted to hide her deep red blush, hoping the thick bunches of dark hair she had let fall forward covered enough of her cheeks to keep Jack from noticing. In a casual outward tone that belied her inward embarrassment, she continued, "We were playing Babes Fantasy Baseball."

"Oh! I love that game!" Jack crowed. Jen had made up Babes Fantasy Baseball over Christmas break. It entailed picking famous celebrities and speculating what "base" that particular one would be best suited for. One player was a "batter" that chose the "base" and another was the "pitcher" who chose the celebrity. Sometimes, the choice was inspired; other times, it was not. Joey's choices ranged from Tom Cruise to Tom Arnold on her last go-round, several weeks ago, while last playing it with Dawson on the Leery front porch. "It's about time we upgrade those bases guidelines. There's a whole new lexicon that's been in effect for quite some time," Jack added.

"So first base, second base, third base, and home run no longer apply?" Joey asked, her interest piqued.

"Well, they do, but it's more nuanced now. In the old days, first base was almost always kissing, sometimes with tongue, sometimes, not. Second base was definitely tongue kissing, copping a feel or two, but staying outside of each other's clothing. Third base was feeling each other up under the clothing. A home run was full-out sexual intercourse."

"But now?" Joey probed.

"Well, now, it's similar, but there's more to consider. For instance, kissing would be a Walk. Tongue kissing is a Single. A Double is breast-touching, some clothes off, excessive grabbing. A Triple is getting naked, with genital contact, and some…uh…mutual getting off. Home Run is the same – all-out sex. But there's also an Inside the Park Home Run, which is oral sex, and a Ground Rule Double, which is when you are ready to do 'the nasty', but you have no condom. Then, there's the Grand Slam, which is sex three times in three hours. Oh, and the Seventh Inning Stretch, which is unusual sexual positions." Jack paused in his impromptu lecture to chuckle again. "It's funny, the things you learn in the football team locker room."

"That's a lot to remember," Joey commented, her brain spinning. "You'd have to carry note cards for all of that."

"Just the tip of the iceberg, actually," Jack said, breezy. "For instance, masturbation is a Bunt-"

"-Okay-" Joey interrupted, "I get the picture. And we're here."

Jack braked in front of the General Store and waited, idling, while Joey got out of the car.

"You got a ride back?" Jack asked, hollering from the open passenger-side window.

"Yeah, don't worry about it. Have fun later," Joey called out, walking toward the store's entrance. Pausing at the threshold, she heard Jack's car drive away. Turning, she stepped back out onto the sidewalk, checking carefully to ensure that he was no longer in sight. Then, she pivoted around to walk across the street and in the opposite direction, hurrying to the playground swings where Pacey awaited her.


	20. Stolen Moments: Chapter Twenty

The playground was uncharacteristically empty. No kids or parents or any other type of humanity in between. Just one teenaged girl, swaying on a swing, alone and waiting. The huge annual Spring Carnival was in full swing on the other side of town. Capeside Elementary School put one on every year and thus, the whole town's younger generation was probably in attendance. Toddlers and tots, mothers and nannies, grade school tykes and pre-pubescent youth, all gathering for varying reasons – to play and delight with eager new awe, to get out into the outside world away from household chores and closed-in walls, to gather with friends on a much larger and varied playground, testing out emergent games motivated by nascent though uncertain attractions. A kaleidoscope of agendas and activities, whirling.

Shifting on the swing, Joey wrapped her arms around the hanging chains, drawing herself more fully upright. _Stop slouching!_ Bessie was forever admonishing. But she could not help it. She was so damned _tall_! It was a good thing Dawson and Pacey were so much taller, otherwise, she would have felt even more the freak. She was taller than most of the guys at school, except, perhaps, for several of the jocks. When she shot up at thirteen, she towered over her two boy pals for about nine months before they each hit their growth spurts and surpassed her in height, finally. But for those several months, Pacey took to calling her "Jolly Green Giantess" just to irritate her. She had towered over him by about five inches at that point. She only had two inches on Dawson. But now, Pacey was the tallest of them all.

_The games we play_, Joey mused, thinking of how Pacey made up stupid illogical rhymes to pepper her with, keeping her annoyance levels on perpetual code-red status.

_She's so very green__  
__And really quite mean__  
__Too tall by half__  
__Look up and just laugh!_

And,

_What's that I see__  
__Frolicking before me?__  
__A mad, crazy scientist?__  
__No, the Jolly Green Giantess!_

That was the year Pacey wore continual black eyes to school. Joey would climb into Dawson's bedroom window after-school, having punched out her frustrations on that taunting boy, and cry on the bed of the other one, the boy that never teased her so ruthlessly. He would just sit next to her, quiet, while the tears flowed copiously, his hand on her shoulder, patting gently, comforting. Joey supposed the natural outgrowth of that would of course be falling in love. Compared to the alternative, it was the closest thing to caring she had known from a boy at the time. It was what she supposed caring _should_ be. From there, she eased effortlessly into loving Dawson. Because hating Pacey was like breathing air – natural and inherent. And to stay balanced, she needed to keep her emotional weights even.

Growing thoughtful, Joey recalled Dawson's voice, from last year, saying, _Promise me we will never air a relationship crisis about anything like that. I can't think of anything more embarrassing and immature_, commenting upon some spectacularly public lovers' skirmish, obviously about sex, in the Capeside High hallway between Kristy Livingstone and her jock-boyfriend. _Deal_, she responded quickly. _Why is that? When we were friends we talked about sex all the time,_ Dawson went on to say. _I think because we wanted to ease into the subject to make the transition from friend to lover...unconfusing,_ she had replied matter-of-fact and in complete possession of her senses and composure.

Unconfusing? Right.

_That first kiss? It's the passionate one,_ Bessie told her, after Dawson at long last caught up with her romantic yearnings and kissed her in front of his bedroom window. _It's the one filled by desire and attraction and all of that. But the second kiss is rational. You got time to worry and over-analyze. And most women? They prefer that first kiss. But I'm partial to the second one because it's about something more. You'll get that second kiss, Joey, and when you do it'll be great. It'll be real. It'll be meaningful._

And it was. She got that second kiss, right here, on these swings, just over a year-and-a-half ago. She and Dawson, sitting on these swings, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

_Then there was you too -- Dawson Leery, who finally got a clue,_ Joey had said to him, after explaining why she decided to forego Paris in order to stay here, to see what could happen, perhaps grow stronger as a result of it. Besides, she was not ready to test her wings so far away. _But I have to tell you Dawson, as complicated as our friendship was, it doesn't even compare to how complicated whatever you and I have here is bound to be._

_Really?_ he asked, wry. _What you and I have may never be simple...but that doesn't mean that we're not going to be scorching._

Joey started swinging then and Dawson sat in the swing next to her. They talked about Paris in Capeside and of all things French. And then, swaying next to him, each of them facing opposite directions but sitting close, they leaned toward one another and French-kissed, her very first one. His tongue was soft and warm, wet and tentative. Exploratory.

_French kiss,_ Joey commented. _The second kiss. The rational one. The one that requires thought._

_It's going to be so simple, Joey._ Dawson replied, certainty in his voice. Then, _You know all this talk about a second kiss?_

_Yeah,_ she responded.

_Well, it's kind of put me in the mood for a third._

_Me too. _

_I told you it was going to be simple. _

They kissed again and it was sweet. But it was never that simple again.

_So first base, second base, third base, and home run no longer apply?_ Joey had asked Jack, before he dropped her off just now. The games played were always shifting. Without warning, rules changed and guidelines evolved. Always confusing.

Ironically, Jack taught her the original rules of the bases, the old version. But according to that set, she and he only got just past second base (_ definitely tongue kissing, copping a feel or two, but staying outside of each other's clothing_, according to Jack), nothing as elaborate as what he detailed in the car ride on their way over. Sure, she had seen him naked – had _drawn_ him naked! But that night had been so surreal and, dressed once more afterwards, he could not stay aroused. And they never went that far again while they were together, for that very brief stint sophomore year. She thought it was her fault, that perhaps she was not desirable enough, so later she was relieved when he came out of the closet. It allowed her some semblance of dignity. And a small measure of hope.

"What're you thinking about, Potter?" Pacey's voice asked, intruding into her wayward thoughts.

Joey swiveled her head around to find him approaching her from across the grassy knoll. She smiled, happy to see him. When he reached her, Pacey bent down to kiss her briefly on the lips and then settled himself into the swing right next to her, facing in the opposite direction at first. Then, twisting slightly, he anchored himself more closely toward her.

"To be truthful, I was thinking about Jack," Joey told him. "While he was driving me over here, we were talking about you."

Pacey's foot, which had been nudging restlessly around one of Joey's, stilled.

"Me? Why?"

"We were talking about the bases."

"The _bases_? You were talking _bases_ about _me_ with _Jack_?" Pacey asked her, disbelieving.

"In a purely amorous context."

"Good Lord! I'm not going to like this much, am I?"

"Relax. We didn't get into personal details. Jack was merely illuminating the contemporary upgraded standardized guide to the bases, that's all."

"And I fit into this, how?"

"I kinda mentioned that you were the one that told me there were changed guidelines. Jack assured me that the new system was universal – not restricted just to your deluded imagination – and proceeded to elucidate all of the…um…improved terminology."

"Ah – so are you all caught up now?"

"It's a lot more elaborate than I originally thought.

"Options, remember?"

"Ah yes. You, always, with the options."

"Makes things much more interesting," Pacey said, a tiny brash smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

He grabbed onto Joey's far swing chain with one hand, pulling her around and toward him. Tangling their legs, one arm sliding around her back, he tugged her close. They swayed together, entwined. His face was so close to hers, Joey could see every tiny blemish and bump in the harsh late afternoon sunlight. Bringing her fingers up, she traced over the planes and curves of his features, then cupped Pacey's face with her palms, thumbs lingering on his two scars – one resting at the base of his chin; the other, brushing the miniature crescent at the edge of his right cheekbone. She knew the origins of those scars, was intimately familiar with the chronicle of their history on his face. One scar was her doing; the other was Dawson's. They each left indentations of themselves on that visage, memoirs of accidental moments permanently displayed there for all time.

Pacey closed his eyes during Joey's tender exploration of his face, but he opened them now and, seeing her contemplative, studious expression, broke into a slow, teasing grin. "I guess I'm a marked man for life, huh?"

Her dark eyes flicked upward to meet his and she cracked a little smile. Leaning near, she bent her lips to kiss each scar, in turn – first, the one on his chin; then, the one at the side of his cheek – whisper-soft. Turning his face, Pacey captured her mouth with his and kissed her back, gentle and sweet, his tongue slipping in to softly swirl around hers, sure and sensual. French kisses. No, on second thought, _Pacey_ kisses. They were their own special category, Joey thought, sighing against his mouth.

Chuckling against her lips, he murmured, "Doug's working late tonight. Wanna come over? Have our own movie night? Just the two of us?"

"We never agree on movies, Pace. That's why Dawson always picked the film."

"Well, Dawson's not here, Jo," Pacey tossed out, drawing back, slightly testy.

Joey immediately slid her hand onto his neck, splaying her fingers against his skin, rubbing lightly, appeasing. She bent to touch her forehead to his.

"Sorry," she whispered, sheepish. "I brought up the taboo subject, didn't I?"

He sighed. "No – you just reminded me of something. When I was over at _Leery's_, Gail told me that Dawson and Mitch are coming back early. Tonight instead of tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Something about a vendor that Mitch needs to deal with. She wanted me to tell you that Dawson's probably gonna call you later."

Joey felt an indefinable something clutch within her, causing a brief spurt of anxiety. It was too soon. She thought she had at least two more days -- that _they_ had at least that much more time. But then again, wasn't that always the case? The best-laid plans often went awry. Looking into Pacey's eyes, a similar apprehension mirrored back into hers.

"Pace?" Joey asked, thoughtful.

"Yeah?"

"Have you given any thought at all about telling Andie about…us?" When he just looked at her, Joey went on. "I mean, eventually?"

"Nooo," Pacey replied, slow. "We're just friends. I don't feel obliged to inform her about who I'm dating now. Should I?"

"We're dating?" Joey teased on a half-smirk, addressing the first part of his response.

"More or less," Pacey chuckled. "In our own distinctive way."

"And maybe not," she answered, focusing on the second part. "At least not right now."

"Agreed," he concurred, grinning with something close to relief.

Before Joey could ponder overmuch on that peculiar reaction, Pacey leaned forward again to kiss her, lingering delicate on her mouth. Nuzzling his nose, in turn, she asked, "What movies do you have at Doug's?"

A trace of a smile hovered over the corners of Pacey's lips. He grew contemplative. Then, an errant gleam lit up his eyes.

"What?" Joey asked, pulling back, wary. She recognized that gleam only too well. It was never a favorable harbinger.

"In light of your recent conversation with Jack, we could…uh…watch an educational video," he suggested with studied nonchalance.

"An educational video?"

"The tape," Pacey pronounced. "With Tamara."

"No," Joey replied flatly.

"You've seen it already anyway!" he persisted. "You…and Dawson, I might add."

"I didn't know that was you when I saw it! And I didn't sit there through its entirety! I just saw…snippets. Then we turned it off."

"Well, Dawson gave it a good review."

"Stop it, Pacey! We are _not_ watching that tape!"

"You know you want to, Jo."

Joey fixed a severe look upon Pacey. "Do _you_ watch it often?"

"Uh…not lately," he replied casually, shrugging.

"You watched it a lot before!" she asked, incredulous.

"Not to get off on it, if that's what you mean! That would be really demented," Pacey responded, bristling. "Just…well…to see what my…um…technique looked like. And then, to see if I had…um…improved."

"It's really weird, sitting here, talking about this with you."

"Yeah, especially since we could be at Dougie's watching the tape," Pacey pointed out in a practical tone. "Think of it as viewing the movie version of the book you read the other day."

"There wasn't much reading in that book."

"I beg to differ -- there was surely a lot of text."

"Well, anyway, I doubt you managed even half of those positions in that first outing."

"And how would you know that – definitively -- unless you watched the tape?" Pacey's grin was wicked. And irresistible. "Double-dare, Josephine."

XXXXX

"She's giving you an awful lot of instructions."

"It's not like I really knew what I was doing at the time."

"And you do now?" Joey mocked, her sarcasm, unthinking. At Pacey's significant look, she blushed. "Forget I said that."

She and Pacey were sitting side-by-side on Doug's couch, one of Pacey's arms loosely draped around her, a slack fist resting against her hip. His other hand held the universal VCR/TV/Cable remote control, a thumb resting on the fast-forward button, presumably to get to "the good parts" when needed. The quality of the tape was erratic – dark with extremely poor lighting and only brief snatches of any detailed scenes to really inspect. The clearest image was of Ms. Jacobs, clutching at broad shoulders, her face displaying a rising passion, her hands pushing her faceless partner up against a marble pillar, those throbbing neck muscles of his, prominently visible from behind. Joey blushed while on-screen, Ms. Jacobs reached down to cup him _down there_ and the boy on the TV let out a loud, guttural groan. Surreptitiously, she glanced down next to her.

"Don't do that," Pacey warned, not taking his eyes from the screen.

"What?" Joey asked, puzzled.

"You're making me hard," he stated, sliding a reproachful eye over at her, quick, before looking back to the TV. Mortified, Joey dropped her eyes to look at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. Another peek at her had Pacey chortling. "You are _so_ embarrassed!"

"I am not!" Joey protested, snapping her head up to glare at him. "I've done things! Remember, I sketched Jack in the nude."

"True," Pacey relented. "And how was that for you?"

"You saw the picture I drew."

"Well, you were very…um…tasteful in your depiction of his…package."

"This is a _fascinating_ conversation for us to be having right now," Joey commented.

"Just watch the tape, Jo," Pacey said.

Looking back at the screen, Joey realized that Pacey was no longer wearing any pants, his backside filling the screen, lean buttocks clearly evident. And Ms. Jacobs wasn't either, though her blouse was long enough to cover her nether regions. However, Joey could tell she was no longer wearing any underwear. _This_ part, she had not gotten to in her original viewing. Instinctively, Joey slapped her hands over her eyes, as if she were watching a horror movie instead of anything remotely amorous. Pacey had the sound low, so Joey could not make out any of her whispered mutterings or his murmured replies, but she heard some heavy breathing, numerous sighs, groans, moans, and then a high-pitched shriek.

"Joey! Look!" Pacey exhorted her, urgent, tapping his fist against her hip.

Joey parted her fingers slightly so she could peep through.

"It looks kinda...skinny."

"That's a finger, Jo."

"Oh..." Joey blushed and buried her face back into her hands, dismayed.

Pacey laughed so hard, he slid off the couch, the remote control tumbling out of his hand to fall somewhere amidst the couch cushions. "Oh my God! I don't know if I should really be offended but I am seriously – and literally – _floored_ that you didn't know the difference!"

"Pacey," she strangled out, deeply embarrassed, "How on earth could I know? I could barely see anything!" Joey sprung up off the couch and stomped a few feet away. Turning at the doorway to the kitchen, she glared at him. "That asshole thing? You're doing it again!"

Pacey grabbed the remote control from between the couch pillows and pressed _Stop_. The VCR whirred and clicked then terminated the flickering coital images displayed in the TV screen. Pulling himself back up to sitting on the couch, he schooled his features to penitence and when he spoke, his tone was contrite. "I'm sorry, Jo. I know this is awkward. I guess I still can't help myself with the teasing. I'm just so used to it."

"Yeah, and look where that got you, bookstore pervert," she admonished, scowling, her arms coming up to cross at her chest, defensive.

He winced but laughed a little. "Point taken. Look, Jo, I don't want you to be embarrassed. All of that stuff? It's natural. And you feeling weird about it? That's natural too."

"Easy for you to say, with all of your experience," Joey muttered.

"Ha!" Pacey barked out, dismissive. "I've had two sexual partners, Jo. That's it. Granted, the first one was probably the equivalent of a handful but-" he chuckled, shrugging, when she visibly tensed, "the second one was as clueless as you are now."

"I'm not clueless!"

"Once again, just begging to differ." Pacey paused and then asked, carefully, "How far did you actually go with…any of the others?" Joey grew quiet and as her gaze grew somber, he started to hastily veer them away from this current topic. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

"Pace?" she interrupted, uncertainty creeping into her voice.

"Yeah?" Pacey asked, alert to the shift in her tone.

"Do you think I'm…" Joey stopped, faltering.

"You're...?" Pacey prodded, gently prompting.

"Sexual enough?"

Looking into Joey's fast-reddening face, Pacey saw every single doubt in the world settled there. In that moment, he hated Dawson. Because he knew she was remembering that night last fall, when she had thrown herself at their fine, oblivious friend and was rejected in that offering. Did that guy _ever_ know what he was doing? Pacey's own rejection, much earlier from this same girl, had just been an attempted kiss. But even then, he had felt some semblance of being shattered. Joey was kind in that aftermath though, gently squeezing his arm and giving him a reassuring smile before walking away from him. It didn't go down as nicely with Dawson, however, judging by the anxious way Dawson fobbed her off on him and the atypical unchecked flow of tears in his presence from Joey, later on, as he held her, consoling. Rejection _sucked_, in every shape and form.

"Do you trust me, Jo?" Pacey asked her now, keeping his eyes steady on hers.

Joey paused, caught off-guard by the question then answered, "Yes."

"Do you want me to show you the difference?" He saw her breath catch. She unconsciously swallowed, nervous. "We don't have to," Pacey hurriedly interjected, afraid he had pushed too far, finally, and began cursing himself for doing so. But then,

"How?" Joey inquired, dropping her crossed arms to her sides and taking a tiny step toward him.

This time, it was Pacey who vacillated, considering, before saying, "Come here, Joey," in a low, vibrant tone that sent the shivers raging through her.

When she came back to the couch, Pacey reached out a hand to clasp her waist, pulling her closer. Joey rested loose fists onto the tops of his broad shoulders. After drawing a deep breath, Pacey took one of those fists, opening up her hand, and then wrapped her fingers around one of his. "Okay, this is my finger."

"Whatever, Pace-" Joey started to say, embarrassed again, a touch aggravated.

"Wait-" Pacey interrupted, pulling her fingers down toward the bulge between his legs. He placed her hand there and then cupped it into him, onto him. "This is _not_ my finger."

Leaning over him, bent at the waist with her hand thrust _down there_, Joey stared into Pacey's eyes, curiously awed. His pupils were slightly dilated, sparking a growing desire. Dropping her gaze downward, she curled her fingers gingerly around that large hardness beneath his sweatpants. Pacey's breath hitched and he closed his eyes on a low moan. Joey glanced back up at his face, realizing her power in that moment. "Um...is this a usual size?"

"Jesus, Joey!" he growled, the sound a mixture of exasperation and strained need. "I guess it's adequate to the occasion. Nothing to write home to Mom about, I'm sure, but I've never had any complaints." Pacey looked strangely discomfited. Or maybe just strange. "Okay," he croaked, not too much later, after she had investigated the contours and girth of his shaft with careful ascertaining fingers. Taking Joey's hand, Pacey put it away from him and set her back a bit, dropping his own hands from her body. "I'd better take you home now."

Joey bit her lip, curiosity still rampant in her expression. "Pace…?"

Pacey cleared his throat, trying to ignore his raging hard-on. "Yeah?"

"That thing with the finger...is that something guys automatically know how to do or did Ms. Jacobs sort of...uh…teach you how to do it?"

"You mean when you were with Dawson or those other guys you never -- uh -- forget that. I don't want to know." Pacey ran a hand through his hair and then shrugged. "I think most guys have a natural inclination toward it. But a woman who knows what's up kinda...um...helps you expand upon your...uh... skills."

Joey nodded absently. "Does it hurt?"

"Did it look like it hurt?"

"No."

"What are you thinking, Jo?" She had to smile at the now-ubiquitous question. For a strange reason, every time he asked, it relaxed her.

"I'm sort of curious...about what that might feel like."

Pacey stopped breathing for a second. They had an unspoken understanding that there would be no funny business below the waist and that would _definitely_ be below the waist, and assuredly beneath some clothing. Of course, what they had just done technically already violated that tacit agreement, but he was still processing that implication in his head. And down at his dick.

"Are you serious?"

"Unless you don't want to…" she threw out, hesitant.

"Oh, I definitely _want_ to." Pacey chewed on his lip, pensive. "But maybe we should stop this. Because if we go there…right now…the temptation to keep going…well, I just turned seventeen, you know."

"I didn't know one's age was correspondent to one's capacity for restraint," Joey intoned, automatically sarcastic.

"In a teenage boy? Age is everything. But there are other things we can do instead. We have options, remember?"

Pacey reached for her, pulling her near once more. His hands skimmed down to her thighs, gently nudging them apart, bringing one leg each alongside his hips, arranging her so that she was sitting astride on his lap, her knees digging into the soft cushions of the couch on either side of him. Joey rested her hands lightly around his neck as she settled herself. Their faces close, breaths quickening, she kept her gaze fixed onto Pacey's, trying not to think overmuch about the fact that she was straddling him, here on Doug's couch. Trying not to think about how it felt to be enfolded around him this way – the insides of her thighs pressed against his lean hips, the tips of her breasts brushing against his hard chest, her moist, aching center – where all the fire in her body had gone suddenly to reside -- settled directly on top of that prominent bulge.

Keeping his flickering blue eyes locked onto her dark, liquid ones, Pacey slid his hands down, slow, from her waist, over her hips, and then, his warm palms curled around her ass. He squeezed, his fingers pointed downward, brushing under and beneath, teasingly massaging a greater heat. Joey closed her eyes on a tiny gasp. Bending his head, Pacey kissed her, slow and long, his hands molding her against his hard erection below her, between her thighs. Taking her tongue into his mouth, he suckled the length of it, then shoved his own tongue, hot and domineering, into the welcoming moistness of her mouth. Plunging in and out of that deliciously wet and slippery cavern, Pacey choked on a groan as he thrust a rhythm he ached to replicate down below.

Finally breaking the kiss, he dropped his forehead against hers and looked at her, panting. While they were kissing, Joey's hands had wrapped onto his head, her fingers pulling restlessly at thick bunches of his soft hair, clutching at clumps she could manage to grab onto. The longer strands stuck up and out, in wild, uneven snatches.

"What do I do?" Joey asked him, uncertain, her breathing, unsteady and harsh, her fingers slipping back down to his neck, fluttering distracted caresses.

"What do you feel like doing?" he asked back, encouraging, intending to let her set both the pace and guidelines of this little interlude -- raging hormones, be damned. One large hand moved to curve around her hip; the other came up to smooth over the small of her back, his open palm, comforting.

Joey stared at him for a few seconds, non-plussed. Then, she trailed her hands down to rest, palms flat, on his chest. His nipples were hard under his shirt and beneath her skin. She pressed down onto them, rubbing upward, and then wiggled her hips experimentally, squeezing her thighs together. Pacey closed his eyes on a small groan, his hands tightening on her, just a fraction.

"Good instincts, Jo," he murmured on a labored breath.

Shifting her hands again, gliding them over his shoulders to reach behind him, she grabbed onto the back of the couch to balance herself. Extending her long legs, Joey brought them around so that her ankles crossed at his lower back, encircling him. "Does that feel good?" she asked on a whisper, her mouth pressed up against his ear, her entire torso melded against his, her armpits saddling his shoulders. Her tongue darted out, flicking his ear. Then, she fastened her teeth onto his earlobe and nibbled delicately.

"God, yes," Pacey replied, groaning again, one hand moving up to clutch the base of her head, yanking her head back and tilting it so that he could fasten his mouth onto the side of her neck, his tongue swirling warm wet circles before sucking in the hyper-sensitive skin, hard. He launched into a series of hungry, soft bites that he trailed from below her ear all the way to the top of her shoulder, the skin beneath his greedy mouth, soft and salty-sweet.

Letting go of the couch back to clutch at Pacey, Joey slid her arm around his shoulders, anchoring herself to him, one hand coming up to grab onto the back of his head. She arched her neck to expose more of her throat to his voracious nibbling.

Pulling away and halting abruptly, Pacey looked at her. "Joey…should we stop?" he asked, his breath coming hard.

_This_ was simple.

"No," she pronounced, without hesitation, hugging his head to her chest, pressing his face between her breasts.

Pacey pushed her shirt up, caution now skittering completely from his mind. Roughly, he jerked down her lavender cotton bra, exposing her full, firm breasts to his hot gaze. The bunched up bra beneath pushed up the undersides of her breasts so that the rigid nipples pointed up pertly. Eyes fixed, intensely focused, his large hands encircled them so that each nipple was cradled within the cleft on his hand between forefinger and thumb. He brushed both thumbs over those stiff peaks – flicking back and forth, titillating, and then circled his thumb-pads around each aureole, caressing the lighter-colored circumference around the darker tiny nubs. Then, he took each one between his thumb and forefinger, twisting and pinching lightly, rolling the sensitive buds, creating excruciating pleasure.

"Pacey…" Joey cried, her hands clawing at his shoulders. "…please…"

Promptly lowering his head, Pacey fastened his mouth onto one rose-hard nipple, suckling hungrily. He loved how she tasted. Joey shoved her fingers back into his hair, her breath coming in quick, gasping pants, and bumped a hard kiss against the top of his head as he switched to the other breast. She loved how he tasted her.

Releasing her breast from his mouth, Pacey briefly glanced down between their bodies as he brought his fingers to the fastenings on her jeans, deftly unbuttoning to loosen them from around her waist. Then, he slid both hands around to her back and thrust them down beneath the seat of her pants, slipping under her cotton panties to squeeze her bare ass in his palms, pressing her up and into him. He could feel how wet she was through her jeans and his sweatpants. His cock twitched against her, stiff and engorged. Joey whimpered and her hands gripped Pacey's shoulders, fierce.

She kissed him again, relentless, and when she broke free finally, to gulp down some needed air, his mouth slid down to the underside of her jaw, wreaking tender havoc, yet again, with soft lips, teasing tongue and nibbling teeth. Pushing out her heels to leverage herself against the back of the couch, Joey leaned back, moaning loud. Pacey moaned too, louder, and brought his hands up to support Joey's bent back, burying his face into her throat. His mouth covered the erratic beating pulse at the base of it.

Sitting upright on Pacey's lap once more, Joey was soon bouncing fluidly against him in an escalating, pounding rhythm, one of her hands again gripping the back of the couch, the other, wrapped behind his neck. He croaked out, "This is the best non-sex I've ever had," before smothering her pleased chuckle with a fervent kiss.

Fastening both hands onto her hips, Pacey leveled a vicious thrust upwards while simultaneously, Joey let go of the couch, throwing her arm across the top of his back, and smashed herself down against him. He went absolutely still, his grip tight, as their lower bodies pulsed fiercely around that intense core connection.

"Oh God," he choked, his voice husky and broken. Joey's eyes widened and her swollen lips parted into rounded awe.

"Pacey?" she whispered, a surprised question lurking beneath the shimmering cloudy haze in her dark eyes.

Joey's head fell back, her whole body arching so suddenly, Pacey almost dropped her. Grabbing her against him with one arm, they fell to the floor, his other arm flinging out to cushion their landing. Reflexively, his hand came up to pillow the back of her head, keeping it from hitting the carpet. Though his quick reactive actions managed to keep most of his weight from landing too heavily upon her, some of Joey's breath was stolen away by the abrupt tumbling. She blinked up at him, dazed, her breath, hitching. Her hands lay, limply curled, on the tops of his shoulders.

Pacey dropped his forehead against Joey's, closing his eyes. Taking a deep harsh breath, he said, "Okay. You are _definitely_ sexual enough. More than enough." His voice was excessively strained. "I'm taking you home."

Sitting up, Pacey pulled Joey into his arms, hugging her to him. Wincing slightly, his turgid arousal painfully still unattended to, he took a ragged series of breaths, then glided calming hands over the less erogenous parts of Joey's gently quivering body. Ignoring his insistent hard-on and willing it to stand-down, Pacey nuzzled his nose into the silky hair at her forehead, touching his lips, soft, to her temple. Nestling her face against his, cheek-to-cheek, she sighed and brought her arms up over his shoulders to grasp onto him. Wrapped around each other, they settled into a restful embrace, their hands moving over one another – hers in his hair, smoothing it down; his on her back, relaxing.

"Are you okay?" Joey whispered, her lips tender against his ear.

"Mhmmm," Pacey murmured in the affirmative. "I will be. Are you?"

Joey nodded against his face and squeezed one last hug around him before sliding off of his lap.

"Do you need to...um…"

"Yeah…uh…I'll be right back," Pacey said, getting to his feet, careful, a little slow.

"Pace?" Joey asked, grasping his wrist. She lifted her head, intending to meet Pacey's eyes as he stood, paused, over her. But her gaze flicked instead onto that conspicuous tenting at the front of his sweatpants, right at eye-level, and a slightly wet stain from his earlier exertions, only partially completed. Involuntarily, she stared, caught off-guard. Her eyes were round when she looked back up at Pacey's face. He looked down at her, his expression pained, somewhat embarrassed.

"Jo…uh…" Pacey stammered out, "…this isn't the best…um…position for us to be in right this moment."

Blushing fiercely, Joey let go of his wrist and Pacey abruptly turned and left the room, striding to the back of the apartment where the bathroom was located. He shut the door soundly and Joey heard the strains of the Josh Groban and Angie Stone version of _The Prayer_ come on, courtesy of the bathroom's CD/Clock radio. She heard a muttered "Fucking Dougie" beneath the soaring vocals and giggled, in spite of herself. Joey readjusted her bra, covering herself, and pulled her shirt back down over her torso. Standing up, she tugged up her sagging jeans, refastening them snugly, and then went back to the couch to sit down. Remembering their very recent activity there, she felt herself grow hot again – a mixture of blushes and bodily recollection. The dampness between her legs was a stark reminder of their prior doings.

Third base, most definitely, Joey thought, feeling red flush across her face and down her neck. Yet not a Triple, she pondered, remembering Jack's little lecture. _A Triple is getting naked, with genital contact, and some…uh…mutual getting off_, he said. Well, they did _not_ get naked, but there was definitely _contact_. And a mutual _something_! Damn! It was all still so confusing! But, she added, recent memory causing her to shiver slightly, it was also great. And real. Meaningful.

A short time later, Joey heard a muted groan, the toilet flushing, rushing faucet water, a hamper being opened and closed, cabinet doors squeaking open and shut, and some muffled shuffling. Then Pacey re-emerged, wearing a fresh set of sweatpants and looking more tranquil. He grabbed the Wagoneer keys from a side table by the front door and slipped his feet into a pair of Birkenstocks sandals right next to it. Turning, he looked at Joey, expectant.

"Ready?"

Joey stood up and when they connected gazes again, they both broke into irrepressible amused grins. Pacey chuckled and held out his hand for her. Coming over, she inserted her fingers through his, clasping them firmly. The phone on the side table rang and leaning down, Pacey snatched it up from its cradle with his other hand, the car keys looped onto one finger to keep from dropping them.

"Hello?"

Joey had just placed her other hand onto their joined ones, her arm linking through his to hug herself against his side, when she felt him stiffen.

"Hey D," Pacey said, darting a glimpse down at her. "What's up?"

As if unconsciously impelled, Joey stepped away, releasing Pacey's hand. Glancing down at his suddenly empty hand, he shot an indecipherable fleeting look back up at Joey before turning to lean against the front door. He transferred his car keys into that now free hand, jiggling them as he listened intently to whatever Dawson was telling him.

"Tomorrow morning instead? Sure, man. Works fine for me…what?…have I seen Joey tonight?" Joey shook her head, almost imperceptibly. "Nope. Maybe she's out running errands," Pacey lied, keeping his eyes on Joey's. "But I'm sure she'll be home really soon. I'd actually bet on it," he added, dropping his gaze. "Uh…okay. I'll pick you up at 9am, bright and early. See ya then."

Pacey pushed off of the door and then placed the phone back onto its cradle. Joey immediately asked, "What was that all about?"

"Change of plans," Pacey said, facing her again. "Dawson and I were going to do some final prep on the _True Love_ Saturday morning, but since he's back early, we're moving it up to tomorrow morning instead."

"So does that mean we won't be able to see each other until tomorrow afternoon?"

"Looks like it. I guess that means I'll be dropping you off at Dawson's afterwards for dinner?"

"Do you mind?"

"No."

Quiet now, they remained awkwardly so for a few seconds before Joey said, "Pacey, promise me you won't say anything before I can talk to him tomorrow night." Pacey looked at her, enigmatic. "Promise me, Pacey," she repeated, her tone, insistent.

He sighed, nodding, then reached to open the front door, motioning for her to precede him outside. They stayed silent for most of the ride to the B & B. As they drew closer to their destination, they made perfunctory plans to meet up the next day. When they finally pulled up in her driveway, Joey threw out, "See you tomorrow, Pace," and quickly disembarked from the Wagoneer.

It was not until he was halfway home that Pacey realized he had not kissed Joey goodbye.

They had not touched each other at all since Dawson's phone call.


	21. Stolen Moments: Chapter TwentyOne

**FRIDAY **

The _True Love_ rocked gently, bobbing on the water in rhythm to an inherent flow and ebb. Waves washing in from the ocean, then washing out again, compelled by the tides, which were, in turn, compelled by the elements – a natural progression of old and new intermingling, moving inward then receding, an ongoing cycle ancient as Time. Settled on the deck of his now-restored vessel, Pacey leaned against the boat's sides and squinted up into the morning sunlight. Taking a long sip of the bottle of Stewart's root beer in his hand, he was the very picture of a wayward sailor, lounging on his deck, idly passing the time on a fine spring day.

All set to pick Dawson up, just over one hour earlier, his best friend called to tell him that Gail needed an extra last-minute hand to prep for their restaurant vendors that morning, so Mitch was dropping him off at the Marina closer to ten o'clock instead. Pacey headed out to his boat anyway to wait for him and now, he had some time to kill. Joey surprised him last night. Shocked him, actually. And completely rocked his world. Thoughts and memories tumbled over and around in his head.

When he got back to Doug's apartment the night before, Pacey immediately took that tape of himself and Tamara out of the VCR, cursing himself for forgetting to do so earlier. He was never that careless with it. But in the aftermath of his rather scintillating interlude with Joey, and then Dawson's unexpected phone call, it completely slipped his mind. That was dangerous. The tape was embarrassing. And incriminating. Dawson's camera was supposed to secretly capture a lasting image of his first kiss ever, with Jen. Instead, he accidentally caught glimpses of Pacey's first awkward foray into sexual discovery, with Tamara.

_I got the girl this time, Dawson_.

_What?_

_Yeah. Call it the law of averages, call it an act of God, call it whatever you want, but I got her._

After getting the tape back from Dawson, Pacey planned to burn it. Building a small fire near the creek outside Dawson's house that night, he held the tape above the flames, intending to melt away those images forever, erase that moment as if it had never happened. Intentions, good or otherwise, inevitably lead to hell. That's the way the saying goes. And he was going straight there, probably. Because he did not burn that tape.

Pacey instead kicked dirt onto those flames, put out that fire, slipped the tape into his coat and took it home with him. It was an impulse, perverse perhaps, but in that moment, when the taped memory hovered over destruction, he inexplicably felt that if he dropped it, it would destroy what he had with Tamara, render it undone, make it "not real". And it was _very_ real for him. _Tamara_ was very real for him.

For more than a year, Pacey kept that tape hidden in places that no one could ever get to, cognizant of the danger of keeping it, yet willing to take that risk. He would watch it from time to time, remembering himself that night – nervous, impassioned, eager, yet also in awe. It was too dark to really see anything and restricted to one viewing angle -- at some point, they completely disappeared from camera's sight. Yet you could still hear the sounds of loving in the night blackness. His face was never shown. But one always saw hers. And it was full of desire. But it was also full of something else.

In the end, Pacey kept that tape because it was proof. That perhaps someone amazing had loved him once.

_I know that you are having trouble acknowledging the fact that we have a relationship but you have to admit there is something going on here_, he said to her once. _Yes_, she concurred, _there is something_. Then, her eyes shimmering, watery-warm, she kissed him, softly lingering. But that _something_ ended very soon after.

_…us ending was inevitable. Hey, maybe you'd graduate. Maybe I'd meet someone my own age. God, maybe you'd meet someone your own age! But you knew that there was a ticking clock inherent to both of us and to everything about us. You must understand, Pacey, I care about you. More deeply than I ever expected or wanted to._

Though Tamara was the first time he had loved, Andie was his actual first love. Pacey had wanted Andie's first time with him to be perfect. She was skittish about sex, nervous because it was an unknown entity. And Andie always did best when she was completely prepared. So he planned a romantic evening, arranging for an evening at a charming B & B, replete with rose-petal-strewn bed and a roaring fire. Yet he balked that night, hastily stepping back from that brink.

_Listen, at the risk of sounding like a really cheesy after school special, when you're really ready, you'll know, and then we'll do this. Then we'll do this till the cows come home. But this thing is way too important for me to just fall back on the old "do now, think later" Pacey Witter approach. You know what the really risky thing for me to do is? It's to not have sex. I mean, maybe that way I'll have some semblance of a real relationship. So...you take all the time you need, 'cause I'll be here._

However, despite his best intentions, they fell into sex, spontaneous, in the back seat of his family car, on the way home that very night. They had been in love. That was all that mattered.

When he and Andie reached that level in their relationship, Pacey would watch the tape carefully, trying to determine how he did what he did, listening hard to the instructions Tamara offered him that night. Not watching the images on the screen, he would instead just listen to her voice as she explained every single thing about what pleasured a woman, what made her feel special, cared for and loved. Andie required extensive instruction -- had asked him, shyly, to provide it -- and he did, to the best of his abilities, imbuing the lessons with patience and compassion and reassurance. She was a good learner, an avid listener, and a very apt pupil.

Yet Andie was also fragile, for all of her steely determination and iron resolve, so they had not had sex all that often. When they did, it was slow and sweet and he talked her through it, comprehensive, every single time, with constant soothing and tender ministration, always focused on making sure she was feeling okay and comfortable. He loved her so. And respected her even more.

Pacey felt a pang of slight remorse, recalling his cavalier reference to Andie last night while talking with Joey. _The second was as clueless as you are now._ It was a throwaway comment, he knew, but in that moment, he had only wanted to allay Joey's own discomfort. He intuitively knew that a little bit of a competitive streak existed between she and Andie. Both were such over-achievers, despite laboring beneath the stigma of whispers and misfortune. And there was that flash of jealousy he had glimpsed last Monday, as he and Joey stood on that porch at Aunt Gwen's, arguing. Hindsight, however, scolded him now. Guilt admonished him for perhaps bordering on disrespectful. But Andie and Joey were different girls.

Pacey had not thought twice about sharing that tape of Tamara with Joey. Sure, it was perverse -- bordering on perverted even. He had _never_ thought to do that with Andie. But when it came to Joey, he often dispensed with filters or boundaries. And, even more these days, any shields as well.

_Am I sexual enough?_

Joey's question had thrown him back to an empty classroom, alone with a beautiful woman twenty years his senior. _What, is this your first time, Pacey?_ Tamara asked him, sardonic, aggressive. _You know that it is,_ he replied, suddenly feeling clumsy and afraid, out on a limb awaiting either salvation or destruction in her hands. Sex was power. With that power came responsibility. And the choice to be either merciful or cruel. Pacey had been fortunate in his intrepidness that autumn almost two years ago; Joey, not so much, just last fall.

When it came to the physical, Joey acted on instinct, on impulse. Pacey knew others might find that surprising, considering how methodical and considering and measured she could be about every other thing in her life – her studies, her relationships, her plans to get out of Capeside. She would analyze. She could work every angle. She discovered extra loopholes, in order to push herself and her productivity to higher levels. Joey was driven, pragmatic, wary, and cynical. Yet beneath all that, she harbored a deep, feral passion – forceful and compelling. Pacey was on familiar terms with that side of her because he had often borne the brunt of its vigor. When they were kids, she gave him scars and black eyes, bruises and bloody noses. But they were kids no longer.

Closing his eyes, Pacey felt every one of his nerves and senses thrill to the recent memory of Joey wrapped around him, her hands roving over his body, her lips and tongue and pleasured murmurs driving him crazy-mad, pushing him past his inherent restraints, asking him to keep going, so that they could both let go, together. And they did. No, Joey was _not_ sexual – that was simply the wrong terminology. She was a _sensual_ whirlwind. Tamara's magnetic maturity and his previous love for Andie, notwithstanding, Josephine Lillian Potter was the most naturally seductive, intoxicating female he had ever known.

But sex, though certainly a large part of his desire for her, was not the main reason why he wanted to be with her. And Pacey did not want it to be the main reason why Joey wanted to be with him either. He, who often acted out like the typical teenage boy, all raging hormones and constant wants and needs, had cared for some truly amazing women. And they had cared for him. With that caring came responsibility. The enormity of it was humbling, a little daunting. Joey was intensely attracted to him. He could tell that much, especially in the way she responded so eagerly to his touch. But he still did not know how deep her true feelings ran. Was there more? Could there possibly be?

_"True Love." That's ironic,_ Andie commented wryly, when Pacey brought her out to his boat after that Rob incident. Struggling amidst the currents of their fast-fading history, he and she shared their final farewell that night. It now seemed like a lifetime ago. _Yeah, well...I figured since it didn't exist, I'd try and create it for myself,_ he explained to her. _Why did you bring me here?_, she asked. _Um...I guess I just wanted to show you I've been okay since we ended things_, Pacey told her. His past finally receding, a new tide emerging to pull him into a waiting future, he continued, _I've found a way to turn what's been killing me into something potentially beautiful._

And she was, Pacey thought, glancing all around at his resurrected craft. _True Love_ was definitely beautiful. His heart ached, thinking about where she came from. Even moreso, when he thought about where he wanted her to go.

XXXXX

Joey's head hurt. Bodie surprised them, late last night, arriving unexpectedly, wanting to spend a rare weekend with Bessie because he missed her. Because those weekends would be even rarer, soon. Yet despite the romantic gesture, he and Bessie had been arguing all morning about his new promotion in Boston. They were such a contrary couple, sometimes. She thought it had been a done deal, but this morning, upon awakening, Joey was greeted by Bessie's loud proclamation, _Love should be fixed in one place, on one person, and that's where you should be!_ And Bodie's quieter but steadfast reply: _Yes, Love is a fixed point, Bess. But it doesn't matter where you are, just that it is. The rest is just making it work, together_. They went at it for at least an hour and Joey stayed sequestered in her bedroom, awaiting the end of the debate.

It was what they did, circling around each other, starting at the extremes on a spectrum of arguments and then steadily advancing inwards, closer to one another, until they met nearer to the middle. She had observed this process for more than six years, ever since she was ten years old, when Bessie first brought Bodie home. Fleeing Capeside briefly, for a restaurant hostess job in Boston, she had wanted to get away, see the world beyond their tiny town, and enrolled in part-time pre-accounting courses at Boston Community College.

Then, their mother got sick, and she came back with Bodie in tow, becoming a mother herself, twice-over, in the space of three years. Bessie was only twenty-six years old, already running a household and a business, raising a teenager and a baby son. Bodie, only two years older, despite being absent in regular proximity, was ever-present with his support, his loyalty, and his love. They were two individuals, on separate paths, yet remained entwined. Though seemingly a paradox, it was the truest love Joey had ever observed.

Their voices grew muted, Alexander's wake-up crying putting an end to their ongoing discussion for now. She heard Bessie's light step moving into the kitchen, pots and pans rattling, the refrigerator door opening and closing. Bodie's heavier footsteps passed into that bedroom across the hall and shortly thereafter, Alexander quieted, just a slight sniffling betraying his earlier upset. Joey threw the bed-covers off and sat up, tugging her fingers through her hair to untangle the tousles. She had tossed and turned all night and was still tired. Cranky. Missing Pacey. Today would be their last day together, undiscovered. Tonight, she would tell Dawson.

She stood to stretch her long limbs and, sighing, thought back, once again, to the night before. Pacey had shared that tape with her. Joey did not know why he had kept it. Figures, she thought wryly, only Pacey would do something that demented. But she remembered being enthralled while watching it with Dawson, so long ago. She felt a contrary thrill then, too, sitting on his bed with him, watching Ms. Jacobs, intent and amorous, the realness of that coupling, visceral and forbidden, she and Dawson, two innocent voyeurs into a dark and steamy unknown. They cracked jokes throughout that brief viewing, to ward off any discomfort. Then he turned it off, before any substantial clothing was shed. Joey wondered from time to time if perhaps Dawson had watched it again later, to see how far the couple had actually gone. But she never asked him. They did not share those types of things.

Yet last night, she shared with Pacey _exactly_ those types of things. She had been curious, had _wanted_ to watch it with him. And Joey was not afraid to ask him anything. She never had been.

It was ironic that the boy who had constantly made it his childhood mission to keep her off-balance with coital connotations would be the same one who she felt most comfortable with, when it came to talking about – and exploring – sex. Because she was very comfortable with Pacey, more than she ever imagined she could be. Not that she imagined it overmuch before, because she had not. At least, not before this year. Or rather, somewhere in the middle of it.

And sure, parts of her were uncomfortable while watching that tape – it was _Pacey_ on that film, after all, and unlike before, she was now fully cognizant of that fact. But despite her automatic inclinations to be repelled, she also found herself innately fascinated. He was so…_sweet_ on that tape. So awkward and humble. Vulnerable. And Ms. Jacobs was uninhibited, enraptured, almost abandoned. Joey wondered what it would feel like to be so completely transported. Because as an adult, she knew Ms. Jacobs must have known better. And yet, she felt compelled to involve herself with Pacey anyway.

Because _Pacey_ was compelling. Pacey made sex _interesting_. And Joey was _very_ interested. But there was something more here. Something else.

She, who eschewed public displays of affection, had always looked on with distaste whenever she saw a couple pawing themselves in the school hallways or tongue-twisting in movie lines and darkened theaters, found she could not keep her hands off of this boy. Joey always wanted to touch Pacey, to be near him, to kiss him. _Especially_ to kiss him. And yet those quiet moments when he just held her -- his face buried in her hair, her head tucked into his neck -- those were the moments when she ached for him the most. He was crazy passion, yes, but he was soothing comfort too. Her guide, her confidante, her gadfly. Her tormentor, her teacher, her friend. Her…everything.

Joey's mind grabbed onto images from past and present, transposing them, unwieldy, her thoughts, unruly. Pacey took her to see her father at the prison last year, the night she found the courage to ask that question, the one question she would always have. He drove several hours to get her to that spot, in front of a chain-link fence, to face down her fear.

_Do you love me?_ she asked Mike Potter, her whole being staggering beneath the weight of her inquiry.

_More than you'd ever know_, he had replied, his voice breaking, his eyes full of sorrow and deep remorse. _And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

_Do you think about me?_ she continued, because once the question was put out there, finally, she needed clarification. And confirmation.

_Sweetheart, all day long, everyday, every hour, every minute._

_Do you really love me though? Because I'm fifteen years old and I go through every day of my life thinking nobody loves me. _

_Well nothing could be further from the truth,_ he said to her, tearing up, choking back a sob.

Later, despite the fence that separated them, they clasped their fingers together, reconnecting, while Joey said her goodbye.

When she got back to the car, Pacey was waiting in the front seat, unusually quiet. _Fathers are weird creatures, you know?_ he had told her earlier that night at _The Icehouse_, before she talked him into "borrowing" his family car to drive her to the prison. He had shared with her his own father woes and she advised, _Well, maybe you should have a talk with your father. You know, tell him that he hurt you._ Pacey looked at her, wary, asking, _Is that what you did?_ Her reply was also her own resolution. _No, but I'm going to._

Afterwards, they sat silent for a few minutes, staring up at the night-sky stars, just being there, in that moment, allowing its enormity to sink in. Pacey, more than anyone, inherently understood how this encounter had affected her. So when he asked her, _You okay, Jo?_, she told him, _He loves me, Pace. He really does._ Without pause, his voice gentle, almost painful in its sincerity, he said, _Of course he does._ Then he reached out and took her trembling hand in his. Bringing it up to his lips, he turned it over to place a soft kiss into her palm. Closing her fingers around it, he squeezed that loose fist, reassuring, before putting her hand back into her lap.

_He also thinks Dawson loves me,_ she continued, quiet, as Pacey started the car.

_He does, Joey,_ he affirmed, swinging the car back onto the road. _Which is why you have to go talk to him too._

And Pacey drove her home to do just that, dropping Joey by her rowboat and seeing her off with a jaunty wave and a sweet grin, standing on the edge of her dock, sending her forth to go after her first-ever love. Dawson Leery, her childhood savior and self-proclaimed soul-mate. Also, Pacey's best friend. He loved him too.

The more she thought about it, the more Joey realized that she and Pacey had grown up trying to push each other outside the circle of that world they had created with Dawson, both yearning to be the only one in Dawson's sphere of attention, the sole object of his affection, and the singular receptacle for his dreaming. Yet that morning, as dawn broke over Capeside, after a long, dark night in a wilderness of her own making, Pacey propelled her to the center of that circle even as he gallantly stepped out of it.

Since then, they had instigated each other to explore different shores, test out changing environments, and this past year, even build new worlds. Without Dawson.

Joey recalled that moment, right before Dawson's phone call last night, when she had clasped Pacey's hand into hers, fingers entwining, hugging his arm, content and happy. Remembered how afterwards, they stopped touching each other. As she walked into the B & B, that realization brought with it a disturbing loneliness that returned her to that dark wilderness.

In the morning light, a new resolution unfurled itself. She really needed to tell Dawson. Soon.

XXXXX

"Three's the magic number, you know," Mitch told his son, squinting up at the sun from his position in the driver's seat. He pulled the car visor down, shielding his eyes from its brightness. "By my count, I'm already on Number Three."

"How do you figure?" Dawson asked, fiddling with the radio knobs, locating an oldies station for his dad. He liked these classic songs. They were permanent blasts from the past.

"Number One, falling in love with your mom when we were kids," Mitch counted out. Then, "Number Two, marrying her and producing you." And finally, "Number Three, heartbreak and renewed connections with that same woman I have always loved, despite everything. Like I said – Leery men love only one woman in a lifetime. I'm a doomed man, son. But happily so."

"Somehow, you make Love seem slightly less appealing, when you put it like that," Dawson said, wry.

"Love's not easy, Dawson. The idea of it is a fantastic dream, but in reality, it's hard, hard work." Mitch turned to send a sidelong grin at his son. "You're about due for a Number Three yourself, by my count."

Dawson chuckled. "And again, how do you figure?"

Mitch extended his forefinger from where his hand rested on the steering wheel. "Number One, finally noticing Joey in the first place and letting yourself fall in love with her." He added a second finger. "Number Two, reconciling after that short, soul-searching time apart last year." A third finger rose up to join the other two. "Number Three -- the time- and obstacle-tested reunion, which I believe you both are headed for soon. You know what they always say -- third time's a charm."

"Dad, how did you know that mom was 'The One'?" Dawson asked abruptly, contemplative and wondering.

"For me, it was love at first sight. Even when I was too young to know what love was, I knew I loved her."

"But how did you _know_?"

"I just did. I can't explain it. I'll never know how to put it into words. It just _was_. It just _is_."

"What about when things change?" Dawson shrugged. "Joey _was_ dating that college guy, A. J., for a bit."

"Was she in love with him?"

"I don't think so. But since they broke up two weeks ago, she's been really distracted and closed-off about it. I asked Pacey if he thought she might have been in love with him, but he couldn't say."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?"

Dawson mulled over the recollection. "Couldn't. I'm not sure he knew the answer to that one."

"And why would Pacey have the answer?"

"He's different since Andie -- more dependable, I guess. Listens more, spouts off less," Dawson told him, adding, "And -- miracle of miracles -- Joey and Pacey have managed to stop fighting long enough to actually become friends this year."

Something tugged at Mitch's memory and, frowning slightly, he followed that insistent pulling. _Everything and everybody that I touch, I screw up, all right? You're aware of the Midas touch, right? You've heard of that? Okay, well the Midas touch, whatever that is, I got the opposite,_ Pacey said, taking his frustrations out on a thick piece of firewood he was chopping for the furnace-challenged B & B a few months ago.

_Don't be so sure,_ Mitch had responded. _I mean, look at you. You're still at it, right? You haven't given up. Pace, instead of dwelling on everything that's gone wrong this weekend, so far, um...think about what you contributed. You've put a lot of selfless work into this place, right? That is the real question. Listen – that goes to the heart of who Pacey Witter is._

_What?_ Pacey asked, exasperated.

_What makes you care so much,_ Mitch tossed out casually.

"Dad? You missed the turn-off."

Mitch snapped back to the present, realizing he had driven right past the entrance to the Marina. Pulling over to the side of the road, he checked for cleared lanes and then turned the car around. Pulling up to the ramp leading down to Pacey's docking slip, he braked to a stop, returning Pacey's cheery wave with one of his own.

Dawson jumped out of the Explorer, leaning in once more to remind him, quickly, "Don't forget. _Real_ champagne, Dad. For tomorrow." Then, he shut the door and headed down to the boat, to Pacey awaiting him.

Mitch watched as they greeted each other with wide smiles, Pacey extending his hand to assist Dawson onto the deck of his boat. Sunshine gilded over the two, the golden head bending close to the dark one, the two pals laughing over some shared joke. Smiling at the sight, Mitch drove away mollified, leaving the best friends to their final preparations for the _True Love_'s christening.

XXXXX

Dawson had come out to help him a few times since the work on the _True Love_began, best he could, but being a notorious land-lover and not-so-familiar with the workings of large sea-worthy vessels, he was usually not too much help. Pacey spent more time giving instruction rather than getting to the actual repairs. Joey had lent more of a helping hand, having become an expert at sanding -- reluctantly so -- and lending her artistic decorative eye to the interior knick-knacks. Buzz proved a quick study and an energetic worker, and he always made Joey laugh, because he was more of smart-ass than even Pacey was. Having Will around the past few days fortunately expedited progress, so now the labors of his makeshift, motley crew were on the verge of bearing some very ripe fruit. The _True Love_ was ready to sail.

"So, did you bring it?" Pacey asked Dawson. Plunging a hand into his jeans front pocket, he pulled out the cheap lighter he bought that morning from the General Store.

"Yup," Dawson said, reaching into his windbreaker pocket and pulling out a folded piece of worn paper. He handed it to Pacey, who unfolded it, letting out a low whistle.

"The secret code of Pacey Witter and Dawson Leery," Pacey pronounced, holding it up between them. Flicking the lighter cap open, he placed his thumb on the latch that would spark the flame.

"Wait!" Dawson interrupted. He reached into his other jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of Corona beer. "Wouldn't be a proper blood-brother ritual without illicit beer on hand." Using the handy bottle-opener attached to his house key ring, Dawson popped the bottle-cap off and then tilted the tip toward Pacey, nodding.

Grinning, Pacey lit the piece of paper in his hand. They watched it burn for a bit, that childhood document crinkling into black, ashy nothingness, eaten fast by the flame. A breeze kicked up, swirling its remains into the sea air and, when the flame came too close to its anchoring human fingers, Pacey let go of the last bit. It floated, distintegrating, into the water below.

"To the perfect symbol of possibility, a refurbished past made relevant to the here and now," Dawson intoned. "We relinquish our childhood past to sail off into exciting new future horizons."

He took a swig of the beer and then passed it to Pacey, who followed his lead, gulping down his own mouthful.

"Did you write that down from last Tuesday?" Pacey asked him, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Committed it to memory," Dawson chuckled. "And added a little bit more. Pretty good, huh?"

"Still esoteric, dude." Pacey laughed and after another long drink, gave the beer bottle back to Dawson. "But a nice touch. Leave it to you to come up with all the good rituals."

They sat down opposite each other, settling comfortably into the boat's sides, and directed their gazes out toward the Marina's bustling activity. Falling into a familiar routine, they made up stories about the new tourists -- early springtime arrivals – cracking each other up with increasingly outrageous stories.

During a lull in the shared hilarity, Dawson grew thoughtful and asked, "You really loved Andie, didn't you?"

Startled, Pacey stared at him for a long moment before answering. "Yes, I did."

"What changed?" Dawson continued.

Pacey shrugged, keeping his eyes focused elsewhere, at the seagulls circling just beyond, hovering over the horizon. "Things happen. Things don't happen. You just sense it. And it hurts. It hurts a lot when things change." Lowering his gaze, he spied that discarded bottle-cap lying on the deck floor. He picked it up, continuing, "But change is good, Dawson. Could be great, even."

"Do you still love her?"

"I still _have_ love for her. But it's different. I'm not _in_ love with her. Not anymore."

Dawson was quiet as he digested this bit of information. When he spoke again, his voice was subdued, almost mystified. "I know this might sound stupid and naïve, but I don't think I could love anyone like I love Joey. I _wanted_ to fall out of love with her, but I couldn't. I can't. I know you understand this and always have, because you saw it from the start, had seen it even before I did. Though you come pretty close, my friend, I think Joey's actually the one person I can't live without."

Pacey gripped the bottle-cap so tightly, the sharp pointy edges dug into the skin at the base of his thumb, drawing blood. With a low curse, Pacey dropped the cap and brought his hand up to his lips, sucking on that sudden wound to allay the sharp pain. The blood swished, metallic and salty in his mouth.

Dawson leaned over, concerned. "Got band-aids below-deck?"

"Yeah. In the metal box at the foot of the stairs."

Nodding, Dawson stood. "Okay if I use the phone to check in with my mom? She seemed really frazzled when we left her this morning."

"Knock yourself out."

Dawson paused one more time, however, before heading down. "Pace, if things changed, you'd tell me, right?"

Pacey hesitated, staring fixedly at that cut below his thumb and then answered, "Sure, D."

As Dawson disappeared below-deck, Pacey decided that if Joey did not tell him tonight, he would tell Dawson, most definitely, tomorrow. Even if it took him all day to do it. He would just need that one day.

_One day._


	22. Stolen Moments: Chapter TwentyTwo

Afternoon sunlight burnished the grass to a gleaming verdant green. Copious trees scattered the scent of pine and bark, thick and fragrant in the air. Together, they walked, not touching yet still very close, weaving in and out through thick foliage and tiny wooden markers, their shoes crunching on the lawn.

One ambitious blonde girl who depended on facts, and sometimes figures, always needed things to be tactile and therefore real. Yet Life visited its magnificent murkiness upon her, frequently. And Love did too, once. So now she explored possibilities beyond mindful procedures formerly constructed.

One former Capeside boy, always pragmatic, eschewed the facts, knowing that the surface of things hid the soul of truth far beneath. An upstanding father in the community outside could turn monster enclosed at home. A playground enemy could turn out to be a lifelong friend.

Andie and Will were spending the afternoon together, just hanging out, before meeting up with Jack and Jen for an early supper at Grams. Andie was playing a rare hooky from her homework; Will was enjoying his recent reprieve from _True Love_ duties. On this sunny day, The Ruins were a perfect site to indulge in their shared passion for the outdoors as well as a common keen interest in all things historical.

"So what's the deal with these Ruins anyway?" Andie asked, curious about this place where secret lovers came to tryst, indulging in illicit passions and sensual subterfuge under night's obscuring cover. "I didn't grow up here, so I never knew the full story of this place. Did some wealthy guy come back from a trip to Rome, deciding to re-enact ancient times? Went to Stonehenge and tried to bring the enchantment back? It's like Capeside's version of the Elgin Marbles out here."

"Not so much with the archeological theft in this case," Will chuckled in reply, gently taking her by the elbow to assist her down an abruptly descending slope. She beamed her thanks as he dropped his hand, continuing, "So, the Ruins…that's an interesting story, albeit a borrowed one."

"Borrowed?"

"The man who built this place did so with one of the greatest romantic epics in mind."

"Romeo and Juliet?"

"No, more epic than that. Still chock-full of trial and tragedy, yet with much better results. Ever heard of Cupid and Psyche?"

"Ah…Greek mythology. Of course!" Andie exclaimed, smiling. "You are the expert, as I recall."

Will cast his eye about the clearing they now entered – a small grassy expanse encircled by marble pillars, with an empty, stone hearth at its epicenter. Softly, he quoted,

"_In the full city, -- by the haunted fount, --_

_Through the dim grotto's tracery of spars, --_

'_Mid the pine temples, on the moonlit mount,_

_Where silence sits to listen to the stars;_

_In the deep glade where dwells the brooding dove,_

_The painted valley, and the scented air,_

_She heard far echoes of the voice of Love,_

_And found his footsteps' traces everywhere."_

"That's beautiful, Will," Andie murmured, rapt.

"It's TK Harvey's poetic rendition of the tale of Cupid and Psyche," he explained, his tone, prosaic. "I memorized it when I was a kid." He led her to a plaque affixed to one of the marble pillars. Upon it, the excerpt he just recited was etched into perpetuity. Andie read aloud the inscription following it.

_Dedicated to every Psyche, in honor of her quest to win back Cupid's love upon losing it. Of the numerous arduous tasks a mortal woman undertakes, at the command of Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, to gain back the affection of that deity's mischievous, winged son. And of the triumph of immortality, after all trials and tribulations, to celebrate a final reunion of lovers in heaven._

"That tale is an allegory, isn't it?" Andie inquired, her intellect piqued by the scholarly context of the tale rather than its unbridled romanticism. "Most writers interpret Cupid as Love and Psyche as the Soul. Her quest is supposed to represent the hard-won labors necessary to forge an inviolate connection between the two – an everlasting union of heart and mind."

"Something along those lines," Will concurred, wry. "Anyway, the man who built this place loved his wife very, very much. Plus, he was filthy rich." Clasping Andie's wrist, he pointed at the hearth at center. "Look at that."

A huge Monarch butterfly perched upon one of the stones, its gorgeous wings splashes of bright orange, black, and white, stark against the grays and browns. With a wistful smile, Will added, "The Greek name for Psyche is 'butterfly' and the same word means 'soul'." He laughed quietly. "When we were kids, every time Joey would see a butterfly, she would just stare at it, as if it held some magical properties of which only she was aware. Pacey would get into her face and insist they were just insects with wings. Nothing special. For some reason, that always provoked Joey pretty fierce. Dawson and I never could figure out why."

"That's Pacey for you -- always able to find just the right dart for wounding. Arrows and zings are his specialty," Andie commented knowingly. "But Joey's a brainiac like me. I'm sure she handled him quite deftly."

"Oh yeah," Will laughed. "If she didn't outwit him, she'd definitely mete out her vengeance in other ways. Pacey was forever black and blue with the evidence."

"I sometimes envy your shared histories," Andie said, longing threading through her tone.

"Don't," Will said. "They're just stories. We all have them, in some form or another. Some are wise to remember. Others are best forgotten." He held out his hand, fingers outstretched. "C'mon." Andie grasped his hand within her own. "I like you, Andie," Will stated, without fanfare.

Andie curled her fingers around and through his. "I like you too, Will."

Walking with him out of this place, they moved beyond that circle of entrenched memories and myths, and left them tumbling, tangled, in their wake.

XXXXX

"So this jaunt to come over here to Joey's was a ruse?" Jack asked Jen, incredulous. He was lounging in his chair on the B & B porch, one leg slung over its arm, hanging. "Just so you could send Andie off with Will for an intimate afternoon at The Ruins?"

"I didn't _send_ them," Jen clarified. "I merely suggested that it was a lovely day for a stroll and that The Ruins were a beautiful spot to enjoy the great outdoors. Besides, your concerned brother act was getting tiresome. Leave the kids alone together to percolate, why don't you?"

"You're playing Cupid!" Jack accused, throwing her a sullen look.

"First of all, I don't look like a Cupid. And secondly, Cupid came 'round way before I did. I'm just providing follow-up. In the name of all things good and holy."

"Being holy has nothing to do with your intentions," Jack persisted. Then, he added, "And you could be considered cherubic, by some."

"That's Hallmark's version of Cupid. In actuality, Cupid was a fine-ass god, just as tall, strapping and bodacious as Adonis or Apollo, any day. So in _my_ version, Cupid's a goddamned _hottie_."

"The Ruins are creepy at night," Joey tossed in, picking yet another one of Grams' homemade chocolate chip cookies off the fast-decreasing pile in front of her. As soon as Jen set down that plate on the small porch table and peeled back the aluminum foil covering, the delicious treats had no chance of a prolonged stay on this earth.

"Well, that totally depends on if you are there solo or in tandem with someone else," Jen countered, with a sly twinkle, reaching down to grab another one of her own to nibble on.

Joey blithely ignored her, as well as the slight flush she felt suffusing her cheeks. She bit into her cookie.

"Dude! Are you talking about Pacey and that teacher?" Jack asked, sitting up, his previously strident tone shifting to curious and interested.

Jen swiveled around to look at him, having forgotten that particular context. "Um…no. Actually, I was talking about present possibilities. Not stuff firmly entrenched in a long-ago past." Surreptitiously, she placed a hand onto Joey's knee behind her and squeezed it, apologetic and reassuring.

"But you were _there_, weren't you? You and Dawson?" Jack continued, not budging off the topic. "Hidden somewhere, watching?"

Joey felt a more stringent blush coming on, so standing up quickly, she mumbled an excuse about going in to check on Alexander and left the conversation before it got too uncomfortable. She heard Jen protesting behind her, "We were _not_ watching! We didn't _see_ anything! And we snuck away as soon as we could!"

Checking in on the napping baby, she then crossed the hall into her bedroom. Plopping down onto her bed, Joey stared up at the ceiling, thinking about the past week, how it went by so fast yet felt like an entire era. Could a period of time so small really feel like it was so huge? Because that was how it felt – huge and sprawling and comprehensive and overwhelming. Today, this Friday, she felt like she was a completely different person than the one she was last Friday -- after Pacey's first kiss and before the second one. Then, there was all of the rest of it that followed. Like last night.

Joey turned onto her side and smoothed her hand over the feather-down comforter, curling her fingers into its softness. Last Friday, she could not imagine a world in which her senses would overtake her mind, pushing her to want more than she ever thought of wanting before, instigating her to give in to all of her physical yearnings and curiosities. Not that her brain gave in so easily – she kept going over these inclinations, time and time again, even as she indulged in them. But for the first time in her life, she was not letting it _stop_ her. She was not stopping _herself_. Was this what Pacey meant last Monday when he said he wanted her to learn to trust herself? He made her feel safe. Safety was a form of trust, wasn't it?

A gentle knock at the door announced Jen's presence, along with a quietly asked, "Joey, can I come in?"

Joey sat up on the bed and bade her to enter. "Where's Jack?"

"Finishing off that plate of Gram's cookies. He's quite happily occupied, believe me," Jen told her, chuckling. She came to sit on the edge of the bed. "Hey – I'm sorry about that comment I made out there on the porch. I forgot about that Ms. Jacobs stuff. I didn't mean to open up a can of worms."

"Worms are still firmly encased. No worries," Joey assured her.

"Seriously -- don't let Pacey's past freak you out, okay? It could be intimidating, having that kind of experience. Believe me, I _know_," Jen said.

"I know you know," Joey replied. The two girls grew quiet, each recalling the same boy, a blond idealist that once cast them into opposing parts on that feminine spectrum.

"It's just…well...it shouldn't be something that should be held against someone, you know?" Jen continued, her tone resolute.

"It's not," Joey answered. "Held against someone, I mean. You gotta start somewhere, right?"

"Right," Jen concurred, turning her head to smile at Joey, grateful. In that instant, her eye caught on the plain brown paper bag on Joey's bedside table. Leaning across the bed past Joey, Jen plucked the bag from where it was perched and tossed it into Joey's lap.

"And there's no time like the present to start," Jen pronounced. Holding up a hand when Joey opened her mouth to speak, she barreled on. "And before you protest, I don't mean literally. I mean, just getting used to the idea of it. Remember – it's for _you_. This stuff starts from the inside."

Joey looked down at that plain brown paper bag. In a quiet tone, she said, "I wasn't going to protest, actually." She brought her dark eyes up to meet Jen's hazel-green ones and quirked a half-smile. "I was going to say, 'thank you'."

Jen's lips slid into an answering grin. "You're welcome."

The boat swayed to a lazy rhythm as the sun cast the sleepy warmth of disappearing afternoon onto the two boys lolling on its deck. In the conversational respite, Dawson lay sprawled, half-dozing in his seat while Pacey sat silent, thinking about Joey. Again. Hell, for the past few months -- and especially this last two weeks -- she was all he could think about. And last night…well, he still could not get it out of his mind. Good God! He had done more thinking about _that_ subject now – a subject that was really beyond mere thinking -- than anything he had ever considered before. When exactly had he gotten so wrapped up into his head about these things? Potter sure had a way of twisting a guy all into knots, Pacey mused. Shit – that was probably not a good image to conjure up right now, he added to himself, rueful, a tiny smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth.

"So, do you feel any different?" Dawson was asking him, recalling him back to this present moment.

Pacey blinked, banishing those inadvertent visions from his mind, replacing them with the face of his now wakeful best friend, sitting across from him. "Huh?"

"Now that we've symbolically laid to rest our distant childhood with that morning ritual."

Pacey ran his hand through his windswept hair and rubbed the back of his head, for good measure. "Yeah, nothing like slaying a symbol to cleanse the soul," he responded, sardonic.

"Ah yes, we have been reduced to murdering metaphors in order to free ourselves from a shackling past. What a dangerous pair we've become." Dawson laughed and leaned back against the boat railing, spreading his arms out to rest them on top of it. "But you know, rituals make things sacred. Banish the corporeal, resurrect the spirit. Again and again."

"Once more with the esoteric," Pacey observed. "So you're essentially saying kill the physical, release the spiritual. And the spirit never dies."

"I'm saying despite the physical, the spirit lives on, regardless. That's why ritual exists – every re-enactment revives an essence that is eternal."

"Ah – nothing like metaphysics to provide the end punctuation for a long and relaxing afternoon," Pacey said, grinning. Standing up, he stretched his lanky limbs, rolling his head to release the kinks in his neck. "So, you need a ride to the restaurant, D, or is your dad coming back for you?"

Dawson's quick phone call that morning found Gail desperately needing him to help out at the restaurant for the evening. Mitch would be gone, needing to make several trips around town to work things through with their vendors. Being an actively engaged "silent partner," Bodie's surprise visit brought with it the added benefit of making him available to meet with some of their business associates over dinner. And two of their regular staff called in sick for their nightshifts, leaving Gail extremely short-handed.

"A ride would be great," Dawson said, getting to his feet as well. "Thanks, Pace."

Smoothing down the edges of the soft, breathable band-aid wrapped around the base of his left thumb, Pacey looked thoughtful, that most recent conversational exchange planting the seed of an idea in his mind. "I gotta stop by Doug's place first to pick up something, if that's all right with you."

"Sure. Think we could stop by Joey's too?" Dawson asked as they disembarked from the _True Love_.

Pacey glanced at Dawson, startled at first and then he quickly composed himself, "Um, yeah...I'm going by there anyway." As they walked to the Wagoneer, he added, heading off any potential questions, "Jo needs a ride to the library to get some extra stuff for her history paper."

Dawson nodded. They had both gotten into the Wagoneer and he was buckling his seat belt when he added, "I might have to cancel dinner with her tonight."

"Why?"

"My mom sounded panicked this morning. The last time she sounded like that, we were at the restaurant until way past closing."

"Joey was really looking forward to that dinner with you," Pacey told him, turning the key in the ignition.

"Yeah, I know." Dawson looked pensive. "But there's always tomorrow, right?"

Pacey nodded. But as he steered the car out of its parking spot and onto the road, he felt inklings of dread emerge from the base of his throat, dropping down to settle at the bottom of his stomach.

XXXXX

Jack and Jen finally headed back to Grams' to meet up with Will and Andie for supper, so Joey was sitting out on the porch steps, alone, when Dawson and Pacey arrived at the B & B. She stood immediately when she saw the Wagoneer approach, a happy grin on her face. Then consternation flashed, brief, across her brow when she saw Pacey had company. But she smoothed it out quickly, bearing a less wide, but still warm smile as she approached the car.

"Uh, hey Dawson," she said, coming up to the passenger side of the Wagoneer. "I thought I wasn't going to see you until later tonight."

"Last minute crisis at the restaurant," he explained. Then, as if the thought finally clarified itself to him, Dawson went on. "You want to come with me? I know Pacey was gonna take you to the library, but you can do your paper at one of the empty tables. You'd get free dinner and an automatic ride back to the B & B later on. It will probably be pretty late though. I have a feeling I'll be needed at the restaurant all night."

Joey flicked a glance at Pacey, just beyond Dawson's shoulder. His eyes were lowered, staring down at the steering wheel, at his fingers idly playing with a band-aid around the base of his thumb. Her mind shifted into overdrive.

She could go now and maybe get a ride to meet Pacey later. But where? How would they make those plans right now, with Dawson sitting right here?

She could go now, come back late tonight and somehow find a reason to get dropped off at Doug's apartment. But why? What excuse could she give?

She could go now but would she be able to tell Dawson at the _restaurant_? With all of those people around? While Gail was in crisis-mode?

One assertive thought shouldered its way to the forefront of her mind: if she went with Dawson now, there was a chance she might not see Pacey for the rest of the day.

"Um…I'm so close to finishing, Dawson. I kinda don't want all of those distractions, you know what I mean? I'm sorry."

Dawson nodded, assuring her that he understood. As she hopped into the back seat of the car, Joey shot her glance up to meet Pacey's eyes, fleeting, via the rear-view mirror. His lips quirked up into a tiny, warm smile. Hers slid up too, in answer. When Dawson turned back, Pacey's gaze was on the road again. Joey grinned at Dawson, putting her hand out to squeeze his shoulder, affectionate.

"And so here we are, the famous Capeside Trio," Dawson intoned, reaching up to squeeze her fingers briefly before she reclaimed her hand. "It's been a long time since we've been together, just the three of us, alone. I miss it."

"We're not going anywhere, Dawson," Pacey said, glancing at him, his tone, wry. "You make it sound like you've just returned from war. Or as if we're about to embark into one."

"Nah. It's just that all of this thinking over the past year, especially these past two weeks, has got me nostalgic."

"When are you ever _not_ nostalgic?" Joey asked, teasing. "You're starting to sound sixty instead of just sixteen."

"Dawson Leery, the oldest teenager in the world. Do you think you have a shot at the Guinness Book of World Records for that one, D?" Pacey asked.

"At least that would be less dangerous than the time you both thought breaking the record for longest breath held underwater was actually possible," Joey pointed out.

"That would be 'longest breath held by a _duo_ underwater', thank you very much, Potter," Pacey clarified.

"I think we came pretty close," Dawson added, defensive.

"Pretty close to suffering permanent brain damage," Joey retorted. "On second thought, congratulations – I do believe you both were entirely successful in _that_ particular objective."

"Well at least we succeed in our objectives. I seem to recall a certain skittish kitten refusing to ring a certain Mrs. Ryan's doorbell one cold dark night. On a dare no less," Pacey reminded her.

"A double-dare," Dawson supplemented. "With a dollar thrown in."

"I was scared!" Joey sputtered, slapping the back of Dawson's head in admonition. Over his protesting _"ow!"_ she added, "And Pacey was being an ass!"

"So why'd you hit me and not Pacey?" Dawson lamented, massaging his head as Pacey cackled beside him.

"He's driving," Joey said. "I'd like to live in order to beat him another day."

"Well, Pacey being an ass is nothing new," Dawson chuckled. "At least to you. Especially when it comes to double-dares."

"True, that," Pacey concurred. "Though the price for double-dares has gone up over the years, let me tell ya." He winked at Joey in the rear-view mirror.

She threw him a smug, smart-ass look in return. "Fear no longer holds me back these days."

"Good to know," Pacey replied, smirking, though his tone sounded a little more sincere than sarcastic.

Laughing, Dawson continued, "Hey guys, remember that time we tried to rig those firecrackers to create sound effects for a gun battle? For that war movie were filming at the old fort?"

As these three sat, in a car, on a road, swapping stories and reveling in each other's company, history unraveled familiar tellings…

…a young girl, the coltish yet often ballsy brunette, who constructed her dreams based on those of another's, her own dreams, shattered long ago. She cast about for stability in a nebulous meantime until one golden boy and his family gave her hope and structure…

…a teenage boy, dark-haired and roguish, flitting skillfully between worlds, adeptly negotiating reality and dreams. For he knew that grays do exist, and he saw them more readily. He knew innately that the world can never be just black-and-white, that there will always be shadings within to maneuver…

…and that one golden boy – the dreamer above it all, who kept on dreaming, his view unobstructed, yet perhaps, in his steadfastness, obstructing others. Even himself. Especially himself.

"Do you need me to pick you up tomorrow in the a. m. for the boat-christening?" Dawson asked Joey as he hopped out of the car, holding the door open for her as she moved from the back seat to the front.

"That's okay," Joey demurred. "I'll probably have to hit the library again, first thing in the morning. I'll meet you all at the docks."

"Pace? You're all set, right?" Dawson asked, tossing his question toward the driver's seat.

"All systems go, D," Pacey replied, adding a small jaunty salute. "Say hi to your folks for me."

"Will do. See you tomorrow then." Dawson started to walk away and then stopped. Turning once more, he gazed at his two best friends settled in that car, staring back at him. "In case I don't say it enough – I'm really glad you two are in my life. I couldn't even begin to imagine my world without you guys."

Pacey and Joey watched him walk into _Leery's Fresh Fish_, both of them silent. When she turned back to face Pacey, Joey found a grave glimmering in his eyes that mirrored hers.

"Let's go someplace else for awhile. Would that be okay?" he asked.

"Sure, Pace," Joey agreed, nodding, fastening her seat belt and settling back into her seat as Pacey eased the car back onto the road. Pacey's right hand lay on the seat between them, his left firmly gripping the steering wheel. "What happened to your hand?" she inquired, motioning to the band-aid beneath his left thumb.

"Nothing," Pacey replied. "Just an accidental scratch."

Joey reached over to grasp his idle hand into hers, entwining their fingers and then resting their joined hands on her knee. She placed her other hand on top of their interlocking fingers.

"Can I ask you a question?" Her voice was quiet, serious. She brushed his thumb beneath hers, tender.

"Shoot," he replied, gently squeezing her hand.

"Why'd you want me to watch that tape with you last night?"

Pacey paused briefly before replying.

"It felt safe."

"What do you mean?"

"I felt safe watching it with you."

Joey unbuckled her seat belt and scooted closer to Pacey on the car seat. Leaning over, she pressed soft lips to the hollow beneath his ear and then rested her forehead against the side of his jaw.

"I missed you last night," she whispered.

Pacey sighed, laying his cheek against her head, soothed by this connection.

"I missed you too."

A quiet lull embraced them, while underneath, stories reset themselves into revised narratives of being.


	23. Stolen Moments: Chapter TwentyThree

They arrived at The Ruins as twilight began to suffuse the sky, the darkening streaks of descending dark staining the pale blue, tinged still with carroty sunlight rays. It looked as if Nature spilled her paints in the sky, smeared the colors into each other and then torched them with a flickering fire. Once parked, Pacey reached into the back seat to grab a small backpack and then hopped out, inclining his head toward the trees, indicating for Joey to follow him. She cast him a quizzical glance as she exited the Wagoneer, but kept any questions to herself. Coming around the truck, she fell into step beside him. While walking, Pacey took every opportunity to place a guiding hand in the small of her back, grasp her arm to lead her forward, or push at her head affectionate and teasing. That last gesture was not wholly appreciated, but Joey's scowl melted away when he grinned at her.

As they strolled down the sloping banks into the heart of the Ruins, Pacey interlaced his fingers with Joey's, bringing them close together. They reached that small clearing, encircled by white marble pillars, and entered, hand-in-hand. Passing the makeshift shelter where Dawson and Jen hid out during that momentous night long past, they stopped at the outdoor hearth anchoring its center. Pacey dropped the small backpack down onto the grass and knelt down.

"Pace? What are you doing?" Joey asked, watching as he arranged twigs and broken pieces of wood to his satisfaction and then reached into his front jeans pocket to pull out a cheap plastic lighter.

"Starting a fire," he replied, logical.

"Pyromania?" Joey inquired, a tiny smirk pulling at her lips. "New aspect of your personality you're delving into?"

"What can I say? I'm a man of many talents," Pacey answered.

The fire lit, he rummaged through his backpack. Pulling out a videotape, he held it towards Joey. She recognized it as the tape they had watched the night before – the one of Pacey and Ms. Jacobs.

"What do you want me to do with _that_?" she asked, looking down at him, crouched there, bearing that tape aloft as if it were some sort of offering.

"I want you to burn it," he replied, his gaze steady and firm, reflecting his tone.

"What?" Joey asked, her eyes wide. "Why?"

"Because it's the past. It's ancient history, like these Ruins. A long-ago dream that I kept on an impulse. But I don't need it anymore. I don't want it."

"But why do you want _me_ to burn it?"

"Because I want us to let go of that past and move forward. I want the future, Jo." His clear blue eyes gleamed at her, soft with promise and something more.

Joey absorbed Pacey's statement in silence. A breeze kicked up, skimming through his dark hair, blowing it back away from his face. She reached down and took the tape from his hand, staring at it for a long second. Then her eyes shifted, fixating on the robust flames. "Once I put this tape into that fire, everything on it will be gone."

"I know," he replied simply, getting to his feet.

The setting sun cast the palest orange on the sheer white pillars, glossing them with warm brushed color, lingering before its impending plunge below the horizon. Around her, the clearing grew numinous, almost spiritual. Turning, Joey held the tape over the flames and then dropped it into the fire. Silent, they stood, watching it burn, the air filling with the acrid smell of molten metallic tape and crackling plastic. Pacey's fingers came around hers, lightly circling. Joey tangled them through her own, looking back up at him.

So many impulses. Too many dreams. And beneath it all, still, a remnant of that inexplicable fear lurked.

Something must have expressed itself in her expression, because Pacey said, his voice gentle, "Jo…it scares me too."

"What?" Joey asked on a murmur, starting to drop her eyes from his. He could read her too well.

"What we're doing," Pacey answered, keeping his eyes locked to hers, extricating his fingers to grasp her arm instead, turning her to face him. He bent his head to stop her gaze from descending, not allowing retreat. "How this feels. What I feel when I'm with you. I've never felt this way before. With anyone. Ever."

"It's only been a week, Pacey," Joey said, her brown-hazel eyes, a liquid wavering.

"It only takes a moment to really _know_, Jo," Pacey replied, his crystalline-blue gaze, certain and sure.

Joey stared up into Pacey's piercing eyes, growing so deep midnight in that moment, they were almost black. She saw a flicker of something in those depths, something intense and burning, that made her shiver before she could help herself. In her short life, she had never seen such a look before, nor responded quite so strongly. Not with Anderson, not with Jack, not with A. J., not even with Dawson. Oh, she recognized desire -- she understood when a boy wanted to kiss her or touch her. She understood physical attraction and she understood when a boy's hormones got the best of him.

But this was something else entirely. She couldn't place it, did not quite comprehend it, but she was completely caught up in how it was making her feel. _Alive_. Like every nerve was hyper-sensitive, her skin suddenly aching, her mouth dry, and her heart beating way too fast. Her lungs labored to keep up with enough oxygen to keep her breathing. It was a look that literally stole her breath away.

Joey opened her mouth as if to gasp in some needed air and instantly, Pacey lowered his lips to hers. He brushed a quick open-mouthed kiss across her lips and then gently took her bottom lip between his and suckled it softly. His fingers at her hips dug into the skin exposed just below her shirt and right above her jeans, pulling her into him close. Tilting his head, he slipped his tongue into her mouth. Joey moaned, opening to allow him greater access. Pacey was tender as he explored her, his tongue sliding across hers, wrapping into it, causing a crazy fluttering warmth within her. It was absolutely delicious, absolutely him. She did not know if she could ever get enough of it.

When he finally broke the kiss, Pacey gazed down her, a smile tracing his mouth. "It's getting dark, Potter," he murmured, his tone and slight step backward signifying an imminent leave-taking.

Joey surprised them both by jumping up into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist, parroting her impulse from almost one week ago in that barn, during the aftermath of those stolen kisses in Aunt Gwen's yard.

"Joey!" Pacey exclaimed, caught off-guard, backing up, unsteady. "What the hell?"

Joey wrapped her arms around his neck, lowering her mouth to his, silencing his protest with another passionate kiss. Pacey groaned, teetering, holding onto her, one arm around her back, the other cradling her ass to support her. Turning, he stumbled forward until Joey felt herself pinned against a smooth, marble pillar. Her legs slipped down a bit until they were just barely circling his hips, so he pushed against her, his thigh shifting between her legs to brace against the stone, his entire body holding her up, pressing warm solidity and thrumming senses into her. The contrast between that marble coolness and the searing heat in her veins was so heady, Joey moaned, breaking the seal of her lips on his. Pacey brought his hands up to tangle in her hair, locking his mouth back onto hers, and she strained against him, her own hands clutching at his back, trying to get even closer.

Joey felt like she was wearing too many clothes, the layers a barrier to being even more a part of him. She would climb right into his skin if she could, if it was possible. Abruptly pushing against him, she slid her legs down to standing and put him away from her.

Pacey looked at her, confused and dazed. "I'm sorry…I…we…" he stammered, his bearings completely lost.

But it was momentary, just long enough for Joey to quickly unbutton the front of her long-sleeved shirt. Pacey watched her, hesitant. Grabbing the lapels of Pacey's brown coat, she pulled him back toward her before pushing it completely off his shoulders. Following her lead, he shrugged out of the coat, letting it fall, unheeded, onto the grass. Then, he slid his arms around her and lifted her, turning this time to take a few steps over to that small, makeshift shelter that once hid Dawson and Jen from his view that long-ago autumn. Leaning down, Pacey settled Joey onto her back on a bed of hay and straw. She pulled him down onto her, covering herself with his intense heat, shivering herself warm when she pressed up against him, melding their bodies. Some birds squawked above them, rustling their wings against twigs and branches, as if protesting the intrusion into their space, but the two ignored the sounds, kissing as if their lives depended on it.

"Joey, tell me if you want to stop," Pacey panted into her ear, his breath hot, his teeth and tongue, tenderly pleasuring.

"I will," she gasped, clutching him to her and kissing the side of his face. "But I won't."

Their hands were everywhere, touching, feeling each other out, over their clothes, under their clothes, in each other's hair, on each other's faces, their limbs entangling then disentangling then entangling once again. Laid upon her now discarded shirt, Joey felt goosebumps raise all along her bare arms and shivered again. Though her upper body was clad only in a flimsy tank top, she was not at all cold. Her legs clutched around Pacey's thighs and her arms were tightly holding onto him beneath his cotton pullover, which was askew and half off. Pacey ground himself into her warm core and the two layers of jeans could not prevent the delicious heat of that contact from shaking both of them beyond their senses.

"Joey. Stop?" Pacey gasped out, closing his eyes, breathing hard, ready to wrench himself away from her, if she would only just give him the word.

"No," she answered, refusing it. And she slid her hand down to cup his hardness beneath the denim with firm fingers and a caressing palm. "I want to know what it feels like, Pacey. Please?"

Pacey's fingers went to the buttons of her jeans, pulling at them to deftly expose her skin and red silk panties to the air. Joey had a brief relieved flash that she gone with the sexy lingerie rather than the usual mundane cotton bikinis, but then, he was sliding the denim down past her hips and, in one swift move, yanked her jeans right off her legs, tumbling her sandals off along with them. She stopped thinking altogether.

Somehow, Pacey managed to uncover his own hips as well, entangling his jeans just below his knees. Joey placed her bare feet flat on the ground, drawing her knees up, the insides of her thighs squeezing against lean hips as Pacey ground into her again, this time without the denim barrier, just boxers and panties, the material separating them so thin, it almost did not exist. The resulting contact was starkly sensual. They both groaned -- heated guttural sounds that rent the cooling air. Leveraging himself so that a little bit of space opened up for him to slip his hand between them, Pacey slid his fingers beneath the smooth silk panties to seek out the moist softness underneath. Covering that slick tangle of wiry hair and damp desire, he palmed her, pressing firm against that heat.

With a gasp, Joey's knees fell to the sides, opening wider for him. Arching her hips, she lurched against his hand, her own hands gliding down to grab at his boxer-clad ass. She squeezed hard, digging her nails in. Pacey touched Joey's clit with the pad of his forefinger, teasing and soft, applying more insistent pressure in response to her encouraging mewls of pleasure. Caressing her folds with tender urgency, his fingers and hand grew slippery from the pooling wetness there. When Joey moaned, euphoric, Pacey shifted to dip his middle finger, tentative, just inside of her.

They stared at each other, intense; her eyes astonished and wide, his fervent and dark. He slid that finger further in -- slow, careful and gentle. Joey's breath hitched sharply, and she closed her eyes against the fierce wave of desire surging through her at the unfamiliar yet immensely pleasurable intrusion.

"Joey?" Pacey sounded almost plaintive.

"Pacey…" she urged, her voice sultry. "…don't…stop…"

Pacey inserted his finger deeper, in increments, until it was sheathed within up to his knuckle. Joey's head fell back against the ground and she whispered his name again into the air. He said hers back to her on another groan, closing his own eyes briefly as he burrowed his face into her exposed throat, smoothing his lips, feverish, across her skin.

Lifting his head and keeping his eyes trained on her face to track the evolving expressions flitting across it with each successive feeling, Pacey set himself to plumbing her more intently, bringing a second finger down and into her, his touch nimble and erotic. When his thumb came over to rub her sensitive nub there -- exactly there – he crooked his fingers, pressing, and those combined sensations, both inside and around her, became her undoing.

Quivering all over, Joey brought her hands up, clutching at Pacey's back, her short fingernails digging into his hot-damp, smoothly-muscled skin. Moaning loud, she was building towards louder. Fisting his other hand into the thick hair at the base of her neck, Pacey took her mouth with his to swallow the scream starting at the back of her throat, only vaguely aware of the ten sharp points of pain tearing into his skin behind him. He smothered her cry with a rough and passionate kiss.

Afterwards, Pacey opened his hand in her hair to gently cup the back of her head, his kisses softer and sweet, his fingers tender as they tangled into her scalp, a caressing comfort. Then, he pulled his other hand from below, reluctant but resolute, and lifted himself off of her, to lean heavily on his bent forearms. He dropped his forehead to rest against hers, breathing heavily. His heart was beating fast and hard.

"Shit," Pacey muttered, his voice unsteady.

He breathed in deep, inhaling the musky scent of her pleasure mingled with the sweat of his own exertion, the aroma blending with the earthiness of damp hay and hard dirt beneath them, crackling fire and burning plastic pungency, chilled air and trees surrounding. Joey's legs and arms encircled him, embracing his entire body. She was all over and around him, vibrating still with tiny trembles.

"Oh my God, Pacey," Joey said, her own voice shaky. "What are we doing?"

Pacey shook his head, a strangled laugh escaping from his lips. "Um…partaking in the early stages of some screwball mating ritual?" he managed to say, after gulping in a few more deep breaths of air.

Joey laughed as the ludicrous vision of Ms. Penny Pretty inserted itself there between them, hovering inappropriately. Then, she smoothed her palms over the tiny wounds on Pacey's back, inflicted just moments before, rubbing healing amends. Leaning up, she softly kissed the underside of his jaw, in apology. Closing his eyes, Pacey nodded, and then burrowed his face into the side of her neck, nesting in the tousled brown hair there, his lips resting against her sweaty-sweet flesh.

"Joey – _this_? It's not all I want from you," Pacey said his tone soft yet resolute. He drew back to look down at her. "I want more for us."

Joey ran a soothing palm up the side of his neck, gliding it gently onto his cheek.

"Me too," she whispered. "But I feel safe here. With you."

Pacey cracked a tiny smile. Joey threaded her fingers, caressing, into his hair and brought him back down to her, cuddling him close.

"Pace? What about you?" Joey murmured, as she leisurely moved her hand from his back, along his side, to rest lightly on his hip.

"What _about_ me?" he mumbled into her neck, nuzzling. Joey paused a moment and then slipped her hand between them. Snaking it into the opening of his boxer shorts, she gripped his stiff erection. His hips automatically twitched in response to that very intimate grasp and Pacey gasped with surprise. Pushing himself upright, he stared down at her, incredulous.

"How do I do this, Pacey?" Joey asked, looking up at him, her voice soft yet heavy with desire, slightly uncertain yet resolute.

"Jo, you really don't have to- FUCK!" he exclaimed, as she began to slide her hand up and down his hard length. Pacey clumsily fell against her, overcome with the sensations caused by that erotic friction, mixed in with the realization that _This Was Joey_ with her hand wrapped around his dick. Joey made a grunting sound of discomfort, his heavy weight abruptly descending, knocking some of the wind out of her. Her hand clutched him, too tight, in reaction. Wincing, Pacey quickly recaptured his poise, and his balance, leveraging himself upright on his knees and an elbow, bringing his left hand down to cover hers, the same hand he had used to pleasure her just moments before.

"Gently, sweetie," he murmured, this new endearment falling from his lips as easily as his resistance to her just now had crumbled. "And not so tight."

Joey relaxed her rigid hold and Pacey interlaced his fingers with hers, assisting her in applying just the right amount of pressure in the appropriate places. Her own residue slickness mingled between their fingers, lending lubrication. A short time later, Pacey released her hand, leaving her to work up her own rhythm and method. Fisting his left hand, he settled his arm alongside her and then brought his right hand back up, winding into her hair as he lowered his mouth to hers, plunging a hard and hungry tongue into it. Instinctually, Joey glided her hand down to the base of his penis, slipping down further to gently cup his balls, eliciting a loud, crazed groan. Pacey felt it erupt from his mouth like it was exploding outward from his gut. Giddy now, Joey cracked a tiny smile, Jen's movie saying from just two days prior, flashing sudden in her mind.

_You got 'em by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow._

Joey fastened her mouth back onto his, mingling tongues and moans. Getting Pacey off was exciting and illicit. She reveled in the heady power of it. Bringing her hand up to the end of his shaft, she circled it lightly with teasing fingers and then caressed its sensitive tip with a sensual thumb, tracing around its crown, similar to the way Pacey often did with her nipples -- round and round, slow and sensuous -- just the way she liked it. His hips bucked involuntarily. She closed her hand around him again, remembering her lessons from earlier, fisting her grip exactly right this time. Pacey thrust urgently into her hand, hard and fast. Then, harder and faster. Because this was just the way he liked it too.

Joey let go of him, grabbing onto his hair instead, and her arm slid around his shoulders. Lifting her long legs, she wrapped them tightly around Pacey's waist. He came down to slide against her, his rigid length thrusting alongside sodden red silk and a throbbing heat, just beneath. Nestled there, rocking fervently between her thighs, the slippery friction heightened his already overwrought senses. He gasped amidst his rising moans, overwhelmed. Joey closed her eyes, caught up in the amazing sensation of him, hard and long and thick, gliding back and forth so urgently across her covered core. She began to choke out a series of softly hitching breaths as his strokes increased, both in frequency and tempo. An incredible frenzy was building again and she wanted more, aching to feel him completely. She wanted him fill her. Absolutely.

"Jo -- give me your shirt," Pacey commanded, his voice rough, almost brusque. Automatic, Joey reached beneath her with one hand, pulling the garment she lay upon out from under her, and just as he exclaimed, "Oh God! I'm going to come! Jesus, Joey!" she blindly pushed her shirt at him as he simultaneously grabbed it from her.

Thrusting it down between them, Pacey smothered his jerking, spewing cock with it. His knees held briefly to provide him some leverage above her and he buried his face into the side of her neck, gasping and groaning his powerful release. Then, he collapsed on top of her, heavy and spent. Joey wrapped her arms around his back and snuggled her fingers into the short, soft hair at the base of his neck, holding Pacey's shaking, twitching body tight against her, until the tremors subsided and he was finally still.

Joey continued to ache for him, forlorn for release, but kept silent, figuring she had had her turn already. Fitfully, she smoothed the hair down on the back of his head, trying to calm herself. Yet though she had not said a word, Pacey's left hand maneuvered past that bunched shirt and glided back between them, his fingers sliding beneath the silk again. He found that yearning nub, circling tender, pressing sweet, and then slipped fulfillment into her, pumping hard and fast, skillfully bringing delight a second time. Afterwards, he dropped soft kisses onto her closed eyelids and rested against her, sighing.

With Pacey settled there, lying on top of her, both of them in partial states of undress, their limbs intertwined, her silk panties soaked through with the evidence of her recent pleasures, the soggy mess of her shirt containing the full extent of Pacey's own ecstasy crushed between them, she probably should have been embarrassed, perhaps even shy. Certainly, any thoughts of being in this compromising position with him, even just a little more than a week ago, might have mortified her.

But then again, maybe not.

It felt so comfortable, so natural, so _right _and she could not imagine being anywhere else but here, right now, beneath him, surrounded by him, touched by him and feeling the heat he created – _they _created -- together. Staring up at Pacey, his blue eyes now sparking down into hers, the corners of his kiss-swollen lips quirking just the tiniest bit upwards, Joey felt an entire universe open up, swallowing her whole. It felt extraordinary. She kissed the tip of his nose and smiled.

Pacey felt that swarm of butterflies engulf him -- velvet flutterings that made him giddy so he grinned. Joey lay sprawled beneath him in the hay, gorgeous, her hair a bird's nest of straw pieces and brunette silk, her tank top pushed all the way up to her armpits, her matching red silk bra pulled down to just below her delectable rosy nipples. His eyes darkened again as he recalled tasting them earlier, savoring the feel of each tight bud in his mouth, the taut nubs sweet against his tongue. A giggle brought his eyes back up to hers and he looked at her, quizzical.

"I still can't believe I'm lying here, doing these things…with _you_!" Joey cupped his chin in her palms and leaned up to kiss him, continuing to giggle into his mouth. "_This_, with _you_!" She fell back and simply looked at him. "It's _you_," she whispered, reverence in her voice, one finger brushing across his lower lip, then more fingers trailing gentle wondering paths on his cheeks, her shining hazel-brown eyes filled with something powerful, raw and tender. Gazing down at her, Pacey's chest constricted. He felt like crying.

Pacey bent to kiss her again, slow and deep, imbuing it with a desire to say something that could not yet be said, not here, not now. Instead, those silent words were pressed against her lips, tangled onto her tongue, and Joey took them into herself, swallowing those inchoate meanings, yet also gave them back to him, just as fervent, just as meaningful -- an unspoken, intimate exchange. Breaking the kiss, finally, some moments later, Pacey brushed one more kiss at the side of her mouth, half on lips, half on cheek, before rolling to one side to sit up.

Grabbing up Joey's discarded shirt, he wiped his left hand dry with the unsoiled sections before leaning over to pull Joey's bra up to cover her nipples. Pacey lingered briefly on those soft mounds, brushing his thumbs against the nipples ever-so-slightly, then slid his hands up to grasp her tank top and pull it back down, covering her up. Glancing down at her drenched silk panties, he moved his hands down to her hips, hooking his fingers underneath the waistband, starting to tug them off. Joey lifted her hands -- a conditioned, automatic reaction -- circling them around his wrists to halt him. Pausing, Pacey met her self-conscious gaze, a flash of uncertain anxiety lurking. He brought a hand up to brush the hair from her face and leaned down to press a gentle kiss onto her forehead.

"Shhh," he whispered, his lips feathery against her skin. "It's okay." Then, he dipped his head to smile at her, reassuring. She cracked a tiny smile back.

"I know how to undress myself, you know," she retorted, the sting softened by slight embarrassment.

"I'm not undressing you Jo. Technically," Pacey added, at her wry, reproachful stare. "I'm _re_dressing you."

"Well, I'm not a _doll_," Joey countered, familiar sarcasm bolstering her.

Pacey chuckled. He bent down to kiss her, his mirth vibrating against her lips, contagious, and she giggled in response. "You're perfectly welcome to collaborate with me in this, you know."

Joey provided assistance, with suddenly clumsy fingers, as he pulled off her panties, deft yet gentle. He kept his eyes on hers as much as he could to prevent any further possible mortification on her end. She appreciated this, because even though they had gotten extremely intimate just now, they remained, for all intents and purposes, clothed. Complete nakedness still made her skittish. Pacey's fingers came around hers, gently squeezing them, affectionate. He threw her a silent question, to which she nodded an acknowledging assent.

Balling up the red silk in his other hand, Pacey efficiently wiped at any residue wetness between her legs and upon her thighs. Joey quietly watched his proficient but tender ministrations, a slight blush tingeing her cheeks. Then, she sat up to pull down his shirt, readjusting it to cover him. She also tugged at his boxers – surprisingly barely soiled – twisting them firmly back around in place at his waist. Their bodies angled around each other as they both set things aright on their persons, and though awkwardly positioned, they exuded an easy intimacy, punctuated by small chuckles and soft giggles.

Setting aside her panties, Pacey yanked his jeans back up, refastening them, and then grabbed Joey's jeans, which he had carelessly tossed aside earlier. Conscientious, he assisted her in sliding them back up her legs to her waist, their fingers and hands brushing as they worked. Joey reached down to encircle her fingers around his wrists as he expertly flicked her buttons back into place, closing her up again. Taking her hands in his, he pulled her from within that temporary shelter, bringing her up with him as he stood. When they were both standing, Joey reclaimed her sandals, enclosing her bare feet once more and Pacey brushed the straw from her clothes and his, pulling out stray pieces from her hair. Then, he looped his arms around her waist and hugged her close. Joey sighed, content, and rested her head against his shoulder, her hands on his hips, holding him to her.

"Are you cold?" he asked her, a little while later, noticing her tiny shiver.

Growing dark fast, nascent stars dotted the sky, winking into being, bringing along the chill of evening breezes.

"A little," she replied, her voice soft.

Stepping away from her, Pacey bent down to snatch his brown coat up from the ground, also grabbing up those red silk panties as well. After shaking the coat out thoroughly, he held it out for her to step into. As Joey slipped her arms into the over-large sleeves, Pacey brought his own arms around from behind, embracing her as the warm coat enveloped her slight form.

"Nice underwear," he murmured into her ear, his voice lazy and warm as he slipped her panties into his coat pocket for temporary safekeeping. Joey blushed and burrowed her face against his jaw.

"Nice…uh…package," she whispered back, somewhat bashful.

Pacey chuckled, a rich, deep rumbling, and hugged her, tighter. Through her automatic blush, Joey grinned.

"I hope you're buying me a new shirt to replace that last one."

"You took my last twenty bucks on Wednesday."

"Steal one then."

"The preferred term, as always, is _borrow_, Josephine."

"Thief."

"Hussy."

"You love it."

"You know it."

They laughed and that shared amusement tempered their previously crazed ardor, easing into deep affection instead. It took the edges off the more potent combustion of their physical intermingling -- the easy banter balancing out the intense passion. Joey turned in Pacey's arms so that she could wrap her own arms around him. They held each other, smiling, as she gazed into his eyes, enthralled.

Another boy's rather profound observation suddenly came to mind. A. J. said to her once, about the Northern Lights, _It's like the sky you've known your whole life. The one you've looked up at every night as a kid. Only you look up at it, and it's like it's on fire. Flooded with all these brilliant colors._ Joey viewed that peculiar phenomenon on that night, bemused. _Sounds kinda scary_, she said. _Yeah, it is_, A. J. replied. _But beautiful._

As she looked into Pacey's eyes, she recalled every shade of blue that she had ever seen there. Shimmering blue-green sea. Turbulent blue-gray storm. Clear summer-blue sky. Sometimes, they flashed like jewels, at times hard and brilliant; other times, deeply mysterious. They could glow transparent crystalline or consolidate into solid cold granite. Those colors had always been there, but she never really saw them all, until now.

"What are you thinking, Jo?" the question, an ongoing ritual.

"Something…" Joey stopped, recalling something else.

_You want to know something, Miss Josephine Potter? I think the world may just surprise you yet. I mean, you fall in love and it doesn't work out, and you think that it'll never happen again, but it does. Believe me, it does, in the strangest of places_, Pacey told her that same night, the night when the Northern Lights lit up the skies of Capeside.

"Something what, Jo?" Pacey asked, curious.

_Love is a fixed point…it doesn't matter where you are, just that it **is.**_

Joey leaned up to place a soft kiss on his lips. Then, murmuring against his mouth, she told him, "Something beautiful."

XXXXX

Bodie came back early from his meetings, so Gail relieved Dawson of restaurant kitchen duty, telling him to go on home for the rest of the night. Phone calls to the B & B got him the message machine several times in a row, which meant Joey had not returned from her library jaunt. The constant ringing would have induced her to answer at least one of those times – sooner rather than later. Pacey was not home either, though that was less of a surprise. Dawson had no doubt that he was probably fiddling with last-minute tweaks for tomorrow's boat christening. He decided not to leave a message for either of them, figuring some alone-time would be rejuvenating for him. They would all see each other tomorrow, anyway, to celebrate the revitalization of _True Love_.

So Dawson lay on his bed watching home movies. On the television, Dawson at five was meeting Joey at five for the very first time on his front lawn. Lillian Potter – slender, ethereal – nudged forth her little girl clad in jean overalls, while her best friend, Gail Leery, documented that moment on film for posterity. Joey's face, surrounded by thick, unruly dark hair, offered up a shy smile. Then, she was pushing Dawson down onto the grass and darting away, thus initiating an impromptu game of tag. Dawson's eyes grew soft and earnest.

The tape continued, playing out scenes he recalled fondly – more games of tag, this time Joey chasing him; swinging side-by-side with her on the brand-new swing set his dad brought home that day; standing in the creek, she and he in bathing clothes, paused amidst the water reeds. Then, Pacey dashing full-tilt and frenzied down the dock, leaping into the air and landing deep in the water close by, splashing both of them. He came up to the surface, cackling merrily, joining a wet but amused Dawson and a sputtering-mad Joey. The scene was a wistful reminder of more innocent, uncomplicated times.

Over the past two weeks, Dawson vacillated between hopeful optimism for that future beckoning around the corner and a deep, paralyzing fear of change. The center kept shifting.

First, his parents' marriage.

…_deep down at your core, there's always gonna be a part of you that's gonna reject reality. A little boy that just wants his parents to get back together,_ Jen said to him last year. When his mom and dad broke apart, Dawson was left flailing, feeling betrayed and to some degree, abandoned.

Then, his filmic dreams.

_I know you can't see it right now, but you are a very talented young man with a rich and powerful imagination. Your dreams are... They're an asset, not a weakness_, Aunt Gwen told him, just last Sunday. He had doubted his abilities to truly imagine this past year, casting about for things new and different, even forbidden. Yet each quest only came back around to something old and more familiar in the end. Every journey did. He knew that now.

Finally, his notions of romance.

_Love's not easy, Dawson. The idea of it is a fantastic dream, but in reality, it's hard, hard work_, his dad told him, earlier that morning. He once thought Jen was the perfect girl-of-his-dreams. So when he first kissed Joey, it was a surprising dream come true. His eyes finally opened, he got his girl, lost her, regained her, and then they promptly broke apart, estranged and astray once more.

Dawson glanced up at the poster of John Lennon's _Imagine_ hovering over his bed, beckoning him onward.

Yet there was Pacey…

_You're pure loyalty, you know? You're still the same guy who drew up that oath we took as kids. Still the guy who'd do anything for a friend._

…and Joey…

_She's my conscience. My soul mate. My inspiration._

When his mother and father sundered their union – that one he always held sacrosanct -- it completely disrupted order in the universe. Not just his, but Pacey's and Joey's too. Dawson had stood on the periphery of his parents' love for as long as he could remember – central to their lives but not integral to their being. Yet he was always the core of the triumvirate he formed with his two best friends. They wanted him there. They _needed_ him to be. And Dawson liked being needed.

From the start, a series of events fused the three of them into a nucleus made up of balancing elements that together, they held connected. Betrayed by parents, by circumstances, by love, the three of them co-existed within a messy universe, yet created their own world to keep all things from falling apart.

Chaos created loneliness.

Dawson wanted to create a more perfect world amidst the chaos. In the beautiful world he envisioned, loneliness did not exist and dreams could actually come true. It emerged within all the moments not easily captured, yet explored and experienced anyway. Moments often rendered in significant nuances and quiet instances, shared glances and soft touches that sometimes burn deep.

In the corner, the painting Aunt Gwen gave him sat perched by his bed -- Dawson + Joey Friends Forever.

_Things are changing, Dawson. People evolve, and some things drop away._

The empty bottle of Corona beer he shared with Pacey earlier today stood on his bedside table – a symbol of this latest nod to their blood-brothers bond.

_It hurts a lot when things change. But change is good, Dawson. Could be great, even._

Meanwhile, on the television, a new scene showcased little-boy Pacey smacking little-girl Joey upside the back of her head, then taking off running across the lawn, gleefully taunting her. Incensed, she took off after him, her scowl dark and formidable, anger lending her extra speed, eliminating caution. She tripped on Dawson's wooden baseball bat, lying discarded in the grass, and fell sprawling.

Once upon a time, Pacey and Joey hated each other.

On the tape, Pacey came back immediately. Bending over Joey, he reached down and grasped her wrists, pulling her up, swift, before she could protest or prevent him. In that moment, the two kids on-screen exchanged a look that came very close to caring. She flickered an uncertain smile up at him. He offered a slow and tentative grin in return. They stood, hands clasped, facing each other, on the Leery front lawn.

Dawson pressed the "Pause" button on his VCR remote control. That singular moment of a rare shared accord was caught, frozen into stillness, and he smiled.

XXXXX

In the firmament above, the emerging stars shone their assorted stories and would do so, for all eternity. For the two below, this panoply of histories new and old would stay visible and shining, stealing as much sky-time as they could, at least from this twilight into the next day's dawn.

"So we'll meet up tomorrow before the boat-christening, right? Over in the boathouse?" Pacey asked.

"I'll be there," Joey promised, smiling.

"Sure you don't want to go to the library instead to finish off that Watergate assignment?" he persisted, teasing. "I mean, far be it for me to screw up your schoolwork. You'd never let me hear the end of it."

"Shut up," she said, laughing. "I think I'm almost done, actually. Just need a final conclusion to finish it off."

"That was fast."

"There's only so much you can do with one moment in history. The rest is context and interpretation."

"And other moments countering," Pacey pointed out. "Or expanding it."

"Yes," Joey concurred. "That, too."

Throughout the past week, a series of moments unraveled in a tiny part of this world -- a tiny part that felt like an entire universe. Amidst these, new conversations and revised recollections transformed two old foes turned friends, poised now on the verge of something more. Something great.

"In any case, you always know where to find me," Pacey told her, inclining his head toward the floating vessel moored to the dock next to him. Reaching out one hand to Joey's waist to pull her closer, he bent his head to kiss her.

"Not out here, Pacey!" Joey protested, raising her hands, laying them flat against his chest to ward him off. Though uninhibited back in the enclosed isolation of The Ruins, she was acutely aware of their very public and rather populated surroundings here at the Marina.

Pacey chuckled, stepping away from her to put a more appropriately platonic distance between them. But he reached to take the hand that she held out toward him anyway. They clasped themselves together, interlacing their fingers, gazing at the _True Love_ drifting gentle and serene within its docking slip.

When the world came crashing down, that very next evening, on the front lawn of the house they spent the majority of their lives in, where the dreams they dared to envision had come the closest to coming true, they again reached for each other, simultaneous, as the boy who created that world turned his back on them. Just like when their hands met, this girl holding firm to this boy, underneath another night sky, in a different yard, just one week hence. Or the moment in that butterfly tent long ago, before that other boy was even a factor -- two hands reaching for each other at the same time, to hold together, as the world changed and shifted all around them.

These moments bound them, from that very first to this exact last.

…_Ever have one of those days you wish you could live all over again?_

THE END


End file.
